Obscurity of Love
by mony2208
Summary: [Complete] Haunted by memories of the war Harry can’t seem to move on with his life. But then a mysterious obscured figure manages to do what no other could do; make him feel again. There’s just one small problem. He doesn’t know who it is. HD slash
1. Initial meetings

**Title:** Obscurity of Love 

**Author:** mony2208 

**Rating: **PG-13 now, but possible R for later chapters (I'll warn you if that happens)

**Warnings: **Slash (relationship between two males), some bad words and possible unsettling scenes

**Summary:** Haunted by memories of the war, Harry can't move on with his life. He feels left behind and lacking that one thing his mother saved him with all those years ago … Love. With all his friends already finding love, will Harry allow a mysterious, obscured figure into his life and into his heart? Harry/Draco slash

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Forewords: **For all those readers of my other stories, I apologise for starting yet another story, but don't worry, this story will be a total of 6 chapters, and they are already ¾ done. I just needed to get this story out of my system before I could possibly update my others. I do hope you like this very different genre. It's only my second attempt at a H/D story, so feel free to give me any pointers. And also, if slash is not your cup of tea, please do not bother continuing to read, because it's not going to go away!

* * *

**Obscurity of Love**

**

* * *

**

****

**Chapter One**

****

Initial meetings

****

Harry Potter padded silently through the dim, deserted hallways of Hogwarts. Night had fallen long ago, as had curfew, but that did not seem to deter the raven-haired youth who remained deep in thought as he passed snoozing portraits and the occasional snoring knight. He wasn't taking any particular direction or heading towards any specific destination, he just walked, head down and arms tightly held across his chest to stave off the cold seeping from the stonewalls. Normally, his Invisibility Cloak would accompany him, providing him with some warmth and protection, but for once, he was without both, having leant it to Ron and Hermione for the night.

Having watched their sickly sweet relationship go through all the progressive stages, Harry hadn't needed to speculate too long on what they would be using it for. Nor had he wanted to really. Firstly, because they were his closest friends, and secondly, the thought of them being so happy together struck an uneasy chord deep inside him.

It wasn't as though he had a crush on either of them, far from it. They were the closest thing to a brother and sister a bloke could find, and his only real family left. No, the problem definitely wasn't that. It was more to do with the fact that everybody, not only Ron and Hermione, had found their significant other. He had watched from the sidelines during the war as people skirted around each other, as Neville nervously wooed Ginny after a particularly haunting attack at Hogsmeade. He had watched Dean and Seamus catch a quick snog before DA, or even sometimes during it, when Seamus would fake a trip and land squarely on top of a smiling Dean. He had watched as his two closest friends danced around their growing attraction until finally another lengthy letter from Viktor Krum had prompted Ron into planting a decisive and stubborn kiss onto a startled Hermione in the Great Hall.

Harry could still remember that day clearly, when Ron had pulled back, ears bright red and looking equally startled that he had actually done it. "I – I uh – you won't be going to that damn Bulgarian's place again." he had stammered out, eventually regaining his earlier nerve. "I need you here."

The smile that had appeared on Hermione's face had been priceless, before she had replied with a content sigh, "It took you long enough."

Even Hagrid had found someone during the loss and heartache of the war, someone who had matched him in every way; Madame Maxime. Harry smiled fondly, though he couldn't help the bitter sigh that followed.

At the time, Harry had been extremely happy for them all. To be able to find that special someone even through the roughest of times was like a light shining through a sky filled with dark, and unrelenting storm clouds. There weren't many lights shining through that time to begin with. War was a constant presence on all their shoulders, especially those who remained close to him, so how could he dispute them the one thing keeping them happy, keeping them _alive?_

Sometimes though, Harry couldn't help feeling like those clouds blocking the other lights from shining down, or at the least like a light who was forced back by clouds so thick and so strong that they were impenetrable for him.

They were horrible thoughts, but in those times he felt horrible. Horrible for feeling the undeniable pang of envy whenever he would see any of them kissing in the corridors or whispering endearments into each other's ears during lunch or class. Horrible for feeling selfish, because he wanted the same for himself. More than once, he had caught himself wishing that Neville had been the one in the prophecy and not him. Wondered, even, what it would be like to not worry about whether or not the people he gets close to could be targeted and killed. Wondered what it would feel like to love somebody so much and have that love returned without any complications.

Afterwards he would be aghast at even thinking it, but as much as he tried to deny it, the desire still remained in a hidden part of his mind, dredged up whenever he was forced to remember that he would never had that same luxury that came so easy to them and to so many others. Regardless of how much he wished it inside, he couldn't willingly endanger anyone else's life just because he had feelings for them in a non-platonic manner. There would always be someone in the world who could find out about anything like that and broadcast it to the world, like Rita Skeeter or that damn house elf Kreacher.

_And that,_ Harry thought painfully, _that had been one of the reasons for Sirius's death._ As Snape had avidly put it, he had worn his heart on his sleeve, and in the end had paid dearly for it.

He scuffed a socked foot on the rough stones in remembered anger, swallowing heavily. Even now - nearing the end of his seventh and final year - thinking about Sirius brought a white hot anger burning to his throat.

Harry sighed, and increased his pace down yet another darkened hallway. He hadn't wanted to dwell on any of these thoughts when he had begun wandering the hallways, he had wanted to escape from his nightmares and his uneasy thoughts, not add to them.

But, as he stopped by a nearby window and lowered himself onto the windowsill, there was no point in returning back to his dorms yet either. Sleep wouldn't come easy to him, not after the horror of a nightmare he'd just had. Besides, it wasn't as though he could turn his thoughts off like a bloody muggle light switch. Going back to the dorms would simply mean him having to lie back down in that stuffy bed, listening to every one else sleeping peacefully, whilst he experienced the same thoughts he was having now anyway.

He doubted his dorm-mates would worry either; it was a normal occurrence for Harry to be missing from bed, wandering the hallways late at night. They all knew of the nightmares that kept Harry awake. More often than once, they'd been the ones to pull him - screaming at the top of his lungs - from his nightmares.

Killing Voldemort had had its definite drawbacks.

At that uncomfortable thought, Harry noticed the wisps of moonlight beginning to shine down on his legs as he made himself comfortable, and he craned his head up to see the moon flitting out of the light splattering of clouds. He realised that it was over three quarter's full and distantly thought Remus would have been preparing to get ready for the full moon's arrival, were he still alive that is.

He had been killed in the final battle.

As had many others Harry cared not think about at that moment.

He drifted back into his earlier thoughts as his eyes bore into the moon. Eventually, after working harder than even Hermione, the war _had_ ended when Harry had successfully killed Voldemort in their final and mind-blowing confrontation.

For the first time since he had gone to Hogwarts, it had happened near the middle of Harry's seventh year. That year, Voldemort had chosen to forego his usual confrontation with Harry at the end of the school year and had struck just after the Christmas holidays had fallen. Ironically on the last day of the year actually.

After the funerals had been attended to, and the wizarding world rebuilt, Hermione had said it was a new start to the year, and a new start to a whole new life. A good omen for the future, though she'd never admit saying anything as divinistic as that again.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't feel the same as his housemates. He couldn't forget all that had happened at the drop of a hat. All the people who had fallen, all the people whose lives had been ruined fighting in the war.

Including his. For so many nights after the final confrontation, Harry dreamt about Voldemort's last moments before Harry pierced his heart with the Gryffindor sword … before Harry then sent the Killing Curse to make sure the bastard was really dead.

Even now, two months after the battle, Harry experienced those very same nightmares. He knew he couldn't be self-absorbed and say that he was the only one who had nightmares about the war. It had been hard on everyone. What he _was_ having trouble with, was how it was so easy for all his friends to move on after the war. Half of them already had plans for their lives after graduating from Hogwarts, which was in just a few short months.

Which was what Harry couldn't do. Now that the war was over, Harry was at a polar opposite from everyone else. He was at a complete loss. He'd given up his life for the war. Everything, _everything_ he'd focused on throughout his life at Hogwarts had been about Voldemort and the war and now that all that had finally been concluded, Harry hadn't a clue as to what use he had in the world.

He didn't even think he had a use anymore. For so long, he'd just been thought of as the boy-who-lived, the only hope for the wizarding world to be rid of Voldemort. Nobody had ever bothered asking him if he'd wanted all that attention put onto him, all that weight placed on his shoulders. Nobody had asked him if he thought he was anything special, because if they had, he would have answered with a resounding no.

How could he be, when all he'd heard from the Dursleys was how pathetic he was and how much of a nuisance he would turn out to be? Never once did they say 'you're the one to save the magical world from ruins' or 'you're going to kill the most powerful Dark Lord ever in existence'. It was more 'go get the milk, it's all you're good for,' or 'you'll turn out like your two drunk layabout parents'.

With that sort of confidence instilled in him, how could he be possibly prepared to deal with all this pressure? Especially when each year only added to it, until it became almost unbearable to cope with in his fifth year – when the prophecy was finally revealed to him.

Another sigh escaped him. And now, that was all over. The prophecy had been fulfilled, leaving him to be even more of a hero than he truly felt. Regardless of the prophecy, he hadn't fulfilled his own life's goal, not really. In actual fact, he felt as if he had nothing left, given too much, and unlike his friends, he couldn't continue on with a life he'd never had in the first place.

Harry blinked slowly as his eyes threatened to close. It seemed his body was protesting against the lack of sleep after all. Arms were raised above his head to stretch out the kinks and he then hopped off the windowsill.

As he landed, he thought he heard a brief scuffling noise behind him, but after a few moments of hearing nothing but the pounding of his heart, Harry dismissed it and started off for his dorm.

The next time he heard it though, Harry knew he wasn't mistaken and he stopped mid-stride, wand at the ready as he quickly retreated into the darkest shadows of the hallway. He wondered what or who it could be at this time; he knew for a fact that Filch was busy combing the other side of the castle for Peeves, who had earlier tipped over a cabinet in front of his office door, leaving the school caretaker stuck inside until a Professor had walked by many hours later.

Harry instinctively plunged his free hand into his pocket to grab at something that would prove handy in this rather sticky situation, his trusty old Marauder's map. To his dismay, his hand came out empty and looking at it quizzically, he realised all too late that it had been confiscated by Snape little less than a week ago.

He would have sworn aloud at that moment if the scuffling sound hadn't been heard again, this time louder as though somebody was fast approaching the very hallway he was standing in.

Harry's poor eyesight caught nothing in the darkened hallway, and he squinted desperately with his wand outstretched in front of him. He didn't dare light it though, he didn't want to lead whoever it was straight to him.

Normally, he wouldn't be worried about getting caught out by anybody after curfew. He had been named Head Boy alongside Hermione as the Head Girl, and doing nightly rounds around the castle was a given rule. However, this was a school night, and with all the other duties Harry had been given through the war, Dumbledore had recently shifted that specific duty to the teachers only.

As Harry waited anxiously for whoever it was to appear, not daring to breathe, the sound abruptly stopped just down the corridor. He waited in the shadows for a while longer, but when the noise made no return and Harry could still see nothing, he sought his only chance at an escape, and took off at a hurried jog in the opposite direction; his socked feet making little to no noise as they pounded softly on the stone floor.

A few minutes, four hallways and two staircases later, Harry slumped against a nearby wall and tried to control his heavy breathing long enough to listen for any other noises that might be following him.

Hearing nothing but the rapid beats of his heart, he couldn't stop the relieved exhale that escaped his mouth. No mass loss of points or detentions with Filch or Snape tonight and he didn't even have his Cloak or Map on him. He took this unexpected turn of luck as a sign to return back to his dorm, so after he was adequately rested, he pushed himself off the wall and turned in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower …

… or at least he _went_ to turn in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower.

Suddenly something cool encircled his wrist, stopping him from moving off, and before he knew it, his other wrist was grabbed and he was pushed up against the wall. Harry mentally cursed himself as that something then pinned both wrists up above his head, immobilising him completely. With all his extra training in the war, he still had somehow managed to be caught completely off guard. How stupid was he?

"Wha-" he gasped. His eyes sought desperately for whatever it was that had so masterly captured him.

There was nobody there.

Whoever it was must be underneath an Invisibility Cloak, he guessed instinctively. It had to be a person; the grips the person had around his wrists belonged to two distinct _human_ hands. He was sure of it.

Knowing that it was a person though did nothing to help his situation and now he also realised he'd foolishly lost his wand as he had beenpinned against the wall.

His feet inched around the floor, searching for his fallen wand. Maybe he could pick it up with his toes or something.

That bright idea proved to be utterly fruitless when Harry couldn't even find his wand, and panicking, he struggled against the invisible grip.

In his struggles, something bony, probably an elbow, bumped into his glasses, knocking them askew and making everything blurry. "Let go –" he managed to get out, breathing heavily as his struggles proved in vain. The other person was just too strong. It reminded him of all the times Dudley had managed to catch him back in the 'Harry hunting' days.

But Harry wouldn't give up. He'd never given up before and he'd be damned if he was going to do it now after he was finally free. So trying another tactic that he had learned from Dudley, he kicked out a leg to where he thought the person could be, and success … there was a muffled curse as he struck something hard and warm and he felt the person lose their balance.

Unfortunately, that momentary strike of success only succeeded in making the figure shift closer to Harry, locking Harry's leg in-between two invisible ones so that Harry was completely defenceless.

_Strange,_ his mind thought distantly. _If the person was underneath an Invisibility Cloak, it would have come off in the struggle by now._

Andall at once, Harry understood and his eyes widened considerably.

It wasn't a person underneath an Invisibility Cloak, because Harry knew all too well how hard it was to reach out for something when underneath the material. No … it had to be somebody under a Disillusionment charm, something he had yet to learn in Charms, but knew well about nonetheless. He still hadn't forgotten Mad-Eye Moody casting it on him back before he started his fifth year.

As he somehow managed to nudge his glasses back up his nose, his eyes slowly focused enough to see that there was a faint outline of a body in front of him. As this person was disillusioned it was too faint to see any details of the body, but as Harry had known where to look and was so close to this other figure, he could tell that there was indeed somebody there, somebody sufficient taller than him. He could also tell from the build that it was possibly a boy at least as old as him, but he had suspected it had been a boy even before that anyway. He doubted a girl – excluding Millicent Bulstrode – would be strong enough to keep him within their grips.

"What the hell do you want?" Harry demanded harshly, glaring murderously.

The last thing that Harry had been expecting was for the invisible person to suddenly lean forward and cover their invisible lips onto his.

It was surprisingly gentle; quite opposed to the steel grip the person still had on his wrists and leg. Harry found himself unmoving, too shocked at the feel of soft lips caressing his to react properly.

How ironic was it that this unseen person was doing the one thing that had been on his mind that night and many others before that? The tender feeling of another intimate with him, kissing him like one lover would to another; it was what Harry had hoped for every time he had seen his friends together, off in their own little worlds.

It also erased Cho's disastrous kiss from Harry's definition of what a kiss should be like.

Harry almost lost himself in the artful kiss and when the figure shifted yet again, he couldn't contain a shocked gasp as a firm body moulded perfectly against his. Harry now knew for sure it was another boy, from certain parts of a familiar anatomy being pressed against him. Almost unwittingly, his own body began to react, the fact it being to a boy currently irrelevant to Harry. Love was love, and as Harry had discovered over the years, it didn't matter whether or not they were of the same or different gender. Seamus and Dean hadn't cared, and neither had Sirius or Remus.

That, if nothing else was what managed to jolt Harry back to the reality of the situation. The fact of the matter was he _didn't_ know who this person was or what he wanted with Harry. He could be just out to get revenge or to play a heartless joke.

Harry managed to jerk his head away at that painful thought. How could anybody even think about cheapening something so precious as this? This boy must know he was desperate for anything. "No," he rasped. He couldn't let it happen and he renewed his struggles. "Stop."

Immediately and quite unexpectedly, the pressure on his wrists lessened and the warmth from the other body was lost as he moved away without complaint. Harry heard the same albeit softer scuffling noise as the other person walked away from the scene, and without the support of the disillusioned boy, he fell onto the ground with a choked breath.

He couldn't help the hysterical laugh bubbling out of him when his hand found his wand just a mere metres away. He picked it up, and when his breath began to come in short, raspy gasps, he almost began to hyperventilate.

_Breathe Harry,_ he said, forcing himself to take a deep breath. _Don't break down now._

That seemed to calm him somewhat, but it still took him a while to get his breathing back under control.

It took even longer for the mortifying arousal.

Eventually though, Harry had no choice but to shakily get to his feet and walk back to the Tower. The closer he got, the more his mind kept on telling him that that was not a normal occurrence. That he should tell somebody about the invisible attack.

But something made Harry hold back from running straight to Dumbledore and doing just that. He didn't know what or why, but he found that he didn't want to. He wanted to keep something just for himself … to himself. Besides, nothing had really happened in the end, and it would be stupid to describe his invisible attacker.

He could hear Snape's voice now, dripping with disdain, "Really, Potter. You expect us to disillusion the occupants of the entire school and force them to kiss you just so you can find out which mindless fan of yours is besotted with you now?"

No. He didn't want that. He could take care of himself. If that disillusioned boy decided to attack him again, he'd be ready for it.

Nonetheless, he was shaking violently by the time he reached the Fat Lady, and even she stopped mid-way into her 'being out past curfew' tirade to ask for his well-being.

"I'm fine." He snapped the password, wrapping both arms protectively around himself. He was too tired to exchange pleasantries with her. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget this whole dastardly night had never happened, because now that he knew the feeling of being kissed like that, he longed for it to happen again. Even if the giver of that kiss was really some kind of invisible monster.

The Fat Lady tutted, but allowed him to enter the Tower.

How Harry managed to climb upstairs and change back into his pyjama's, he didn't know, but he soon found himself falling comfortably into his bed.

And drifting off into a blissful and dreamless sleep, the likes of which he hadn't experienced for quite some time.

* * *

**A/N: **So what do you all think? Should I continue posting? The next one's already done but I'm touching it up a bit so it will take another few days to get out.


	2. Confusion

**Title:** Obscurity of Love 

**Author:** mony2208 

**Rating:** PG-13 now, but possible R for later chapters

**Warnings: **Slash (relationship between two males), some bad words and possible unsettling scenes

**Summary:** Haunted by memories of the war, Harry can't move on with his life. He feels left behind and lacking that one thing his mother saved him with all those years ago … Love. With all his friends already finding love, will Harry allow a mysterious, obscured figure into his life and into his heart? Harry/Draco slash

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Forewords:** For all those readers of my other stories, I apologise for starting yet another story, but don't worry, this story will be a total of 6 chapters, and they are already ¾ done. I just needed to get this story out of my system before I could possibly update my others. I do hope you like this very different genre. It's only my second attempt at a H/D story, so feel free to give me any pointers.

I know this is a far-cry from the other fics I usually write. Nonetheless, in answer to a couple of reviews, I never did say Harry was specifically gay. I just mentioned that he thought love had no gender. Then this disillusioned figure comes along, and it's not so much the boy part that Harry falls in love with, but the fact that this other person cares for him and supports him in a time where he is feeling very alone. I'm just trying to get across the feeling that attraction doesn't necessarily come from gender or from looks.

I am also aware that this will not likely be the same path JK Rowling will take for her future books. But not all fanfiction necessarily has to fit the same mould that she has, hence the reason for fanfiction in the first place.

**

* * *

**

Obscurity of Love

* * *

****

**Chapter Two**

****

**_Confusion_**

Harry woke the next morning refreshed and content, and he found himself reluctant to move from the cocooned warmth of his bed. As he snuggled more under the covers, Harry wondered why he'd had such a restful night. As usual, he'd had a nightmare, then gone for a walk, then there was that …

_Oh._

"Oh no." Harry whistled under his breath. That had all really happened last night. Some unknown boy had accosted him while under the Disillusionment Charm. Accosted him and kissed him senseless.

He groaned loudly, resisting the urge to smother himself with his pillow as he rolled over onto his stomach. How could he have let that happen? He had killed Voldemort; surely, some invisible or camouflaged boy would have been next to nothing to overcome.

He shook his head; he didn't want to think about it anymore. The covers were thrown back as he decisively climbed out of bed, only belatedly noticing the lack of noise coming from the other boys. He looked around after grabbing his glasses and saw that everyone else's beds were conspicuously empty. Startled, he checked his muggle watch and saw …

"8am!" he exclaimed. Breakfast was half over and classes started in one hour, which would have to be Potions of course.

Having been accepted into sixth year potions because of a very stubborn Head of House, Harry had, even more amazingly been accepted into the NEWT class the following year, after extensive tutoring from Hermione and even, albeit grudgingly Professor Snape.

That latter name stopped becoming a moot point for Harry by the end of sixth year, as the two had somehow managed to maintain a civil, yet understandably distant relationship. Admittedly, it was a forced one at first; they'd had to resume Harry's _remedial potions _lessons, and start other extra curricular lessons that would prove necessary for the war.

But afterwards, with neither ever bringing up issues about Harry's parents, or Snape's experiences at school, their truce had grown less forced and more relaxed. That is if one was to exclude the brief apology Harry had issued the Potions Master one remedial potions lesson. However, s simple frustrated _'legimens' _from Snape had proven his apology to have been sincere and solemn, and Professor Snape had relented slightly enough to make their lessons bearable from that point on.

Then during the final battle, the two had fought side by side along with the rest of the Order. At one stage, when Harry had faltered slightly at facing Voldemort, Snape had sent a stunning spell to the Dark Lord, giving sufficient enough time for Harry to pull himself together. After that, all was history. Voldemort was killed, his many death eaters following after him and the remaining captured for Azkaban.

Harry shook his thoughts of the dour Potions Master – he'd be seeing the man soon enough as it was - and hurriedly got ready for the day. For once, he even took a shower without the hindrance of his crazy friends and once he was dressed and his bag packed, Harry took off towards the dungeons at a leisurely stroll. Even though he had skipped breakfast, he'd never felt as energetic or as carefree as he did now. He didn't even mind the fact that the class he was so happily walking to was his Potions Class.

So he wasn't fazed in the slightest when he entered the class earlier than usual to find that the class was practically empty. He gave a faint nod to a surprised Professor Snape as he took a seat and pulled out his books. He looked down at them, but regardless of his newfound energy, he couldn't be bothered to open them yet. He'd never have that same aspiration to memorise every one of his textbooks that Hermione seemed to have. He stopped himself chuckling fondly at that thought. Over the years, Hermione had certainly lightened up, but still, every now and again, he'd be reminded of that busy-haired little girl chastising him and Ron for breaking the rules on the train that first year.

As he began to tap his fingers thoughtfully onto his textbook, a prickling sensation started up at the back of his neck and spread down his spine as though someone was watching him. Stopping his tapping, he looked up, rubbing at his neck, and feeling slightly unnerved, he flicked his gaze around the classroom, noticing too late that he'd overlooked exactly who that other student already seated in the dungeon with him was.

Draco Malfoy.

Who was currently staring at him with an intent, but unreadable expression on his face. Confused green eyes met aloof grey, then Malfoy looked away with a slight curl on his lips. Harry frowned slightly, not moving his own away.

Draco Malfoy meant confusion galore to Harry. Going against what everybody - especially Harry - had originally thought, the Slytherin boy had not involved himself in the final battle, ignoring both his family and legacy. He'd chosen instead to remain neutral, not fighting for any side in the war. Dumbledore hadn't minded; he'd allowed him to remain in the Slytherin dungeons, well out of the way of everything. Harry knew all too well that the sly Headmaster did that because anything was better than more of his Hogwarts students moving to the Dark side.

But although it was said that Malfoy had remained neutral at all times, Harry had heard Dumbledore and Snape talking once about another, lesser known spy who had managed to gain enough information to be aware of the final battle. Before then, Harry had always gathered Snape to have been the one to know about the final battle, but after hearing the conversation, his thoughts began to stray to Malfoy.

He was, after all, the undisputed leader of Slytherin house and everyone always followed his lead. Once he had made his decision to stay out of the war, the rest of the House had stuck by him. _In Slytherin you'll make your true friends._ He remembered the Sorting Hat saying that to him in first year, and from that moment on, he'd actually believed it to be true.

What he couldn't understand though, was why Malfoy would even have warned Dumbledore about Voldemort's final attack. If he was completely neutral to the situation, wouldn't he have just allowed both sides to fight it out? That, at least, would mean whoever won, Malfoy could easily realign himself to them with a minimal amount of trouble.

But that couldn't be the case. Leaking information about the time and place of the final battle, meant that the favour had been tipped to the Light side. If Harry hadn't known where and when Voldemort was planning to kill him, he wouldn't have been sufficiently prepared to perform his own plan to bring the Dark Lord down.

At the sound of more people entering the classroom, he dropped his gaze to the table, realising that as he'd drifted into his thoughts, he'd continued to stare at the other boy, who thankfully hadn't looked back.

"There you are Harry." A voice exclaimed behind him. He didn't need to look up to know it was Hermione, one of his closest friends and the only other member of their trio going on with Potions. Ron had discontinued Potions back in sixth year, his marks making the choice for him to continue History of Magic instead of this torture lesson.

"Sorry," he replied, only turning to look as the girl slipped into the chair beside him. "I slept in this morning so I just skipped breakfast altogether and came here."

Hermione smiled brightly. "Ron told me you were still sleeping when he and the others got up." she said, "and I'm just glad you finally got a good night's sleep. You look so much better, so whatever you did differently must be working."

Harry smiled weakly. "Thanks." He didn't want to remind himself what had assured that dreamless and unusually long sleep. It was strange to think that that unpleasant situation had been the one thing that had succeeded, other than the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

"Now," Snape's voice barked loudly and he turned his attention back to the black robed Professor standing by the blackboard. "seeing as you've all finally decided to wander in, turn to page 394 of your textbooks."

Harry did and looked down at the page. It was a rather complicated potion; according to the ingredients needed, it would take two months to brew, even longer than the Polyjuice potion had taken.

"As you can see," Snape's silky voice continued on, "this potion will be the most complicated one yet. Therefore, I will be pairing you up to equally share the workload over the next two moon cycles."

Harry automatically shifted closer to Hermione, noticing the envious stares at him being able to snag the most cleverest witch for the potion. He grinned despite himself; it was good to have her as his best friend sometimes, it really was.

"Not so fast." Snape said, looking directly at Harry with a malevolent expression on his face. Harry conveniently forgot to mention that though they no longer hated one another as much, Snape still took great pleasure in putting him in every uncomfortable situation possible. This time undoubtedly would be no different from any other. "I will be the one to designate your pairs. I believe that some have been privy to more advantages than others."

Harry snorted as he stole a look at Hermione. She may be an advantage, but it wasn't as though Harry didn't do his fair share of work. Hermione would always make sure of that.

"All right." drawled Snape, looking down at the parchment he now held in his hands. A foreboding feeling settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. If Snape had already written them down, then these pairings would be disastrous. "Let's see here. Miss Granger with Miss Abbot … Mr Smith with Mr Nott … Mr Thomas and Mr Finch-Fletchley … Miss Parkinson and Miss Brocklehurst …"

Harry really didn't like where this list was going. He hadn't heard his name or Malfoy's yet.

"Mr Potter and-" there was a drawn out pause, before a satisfied, "Mr Malfoy."

Hiding his face in the palm of his hands, Harry should have known Snape would be wanting to place him with the one person who drove him insane. Glumly, he waited for Snape to finish calling out the rest of the pairs before he trudged over to Malfoy's table.

"Hail oh saviour of our world," Malfoy greeted in a monotone, not bothering to make space for Harry. "How may I serve you?"

Harry scowled. He hated it when people called him that. The newspapers had been doing it for months and was slowly replacing the other ridiculous title they had been calling him for the past sixteen years. "Shove off, Malfoy. I just want this potion done." He irritably pushed Malfoy's book bag over so he could place his own stuff on the table.

Malfoy's voice was heard again. "Would you like me to speed up time so you can get it done now then, oh saviour?"

Harry didn't reply; he merely stormed off to the ingredients table with his book, ignoring Malfoy's soft laughter. If Malfoy wasn't going to act serious about this potion, then at least one of them would.

Whatever confusion he felt towards Malfoy was always flushed out of his system whenever he conversed with the annoying Slytherin. What he noticed from afar was quite different when close up.

Harry should know, he'd watched him for almost seven years.

He gave a self-suffering sigh as he began to collect the ingredients. It would have been nice if Malfoy had given up his stupid superiority act to help him gather the ingredients. Instead, he – Harry snuck a look over at Malfoy, and scowled as he finished that sentence. Instead, the stupid git was busy sitting down and flicking away burnt ingredients off his desk with a bored look on his face.

With the same scowl still present on Harry's face, he stormed back over to the table with the whole collection of ingredients and dumped them onto their own table. He almost dropped a few along the way, his arms being ladled practically to the hilt, but he managed, with no help from Malfoy of course.

"Heard you lived like a house elf back at your muggle relative's house, but to see you now, I can actually believe it." Malfoy commented casually, flicking a charcoaled ingredient over at Harry.

Harry stopped organising the ingredients long enough to give Malfoy a contemplative look. "How do you mean?"

Malfoy waved his wand in front of Harry's face. "Ever heard of magic, Potter?" he leered. "You could have just levitated everything over, instead of using the muggle means and getting your hands dirtied."

Harry was not impressed. "Quit it, Malfoy." he exclaimed, flushing slightly in embarrassment. He didn't want to admit that Malfoy had had a point. "I'm not going to rise to any of your bait, because I, unlike you have grown up." He deliberately used the same kind of words Malfoy had used against him in fifth year, and he noticed with satisfaction that Malfoy remembered it too.

Malfoy's eyebrow raised considerably, but he didn't answer. Instead he reached for the bat's wings. It was Harry's time to raise his eyebrows and in the silence that grew, Harry's attention was directed towards extracting juice from two dead leeches. His face scrunched up in intense concentration.

After half an hour had passed without the two sniping at each other more than that first time, Harry relaxed slightly. He had to admit that Malfoy had changed since the war. For one thing, he'd noticed how Malfoy no longer referred to Hermione as the Mudblood, or bragged about the purity of his own blood. He seemed to have finally grown past the discrimination against the type of blood in one's body, which was no small feat. Harry wondered what it had taken to make that change. He doubted it was the war as the other Slytherins still sometimes insulted Hermione and the other muggleborns at Hogwarts.

Another thing that had changed about the pale Slytherin was the amount of dirty tricks pulled on Harry and the other two of their trio. Since the war, there had been only a minimal amount, and none were severe enough to get Harry and his friends expelled. Just a loss of points and perhaps an odd detention here and there.

It was as if Malfoy had finally grown up, but Harry knew that could easily be subject to change. Hence Malfoy's previous comments on his 'saviour' status.

He frowned, deep in thought, and didn't notice he had kept on chopping his already well chopped daisy roots until a pale arm gripped at his.

At the familiar contact, Harry had a flash of the night before and his head snapped up to look at Malfoy, alarmed. Nothing gave in the other boy's expression as he stared evenly back.

"We do want some roots left for the potion, not your fingers." Malfoy informed him, lowering his eyes down to the table.

Brow still furrowed, Harry followed his gaze back down and saw how close his knife was to his index finger. Another few chops and like Malfoy had said, there would have been little pieces of Harry in that potion.

Harry was uncertain what to do, and he cleared his throat a bit hesitantly. "Uh – thanks." he said, his eyes fixedly watching as Malfoy uncurled his fingers from their position on Harry's arm. "I appreciate it."

Malfoy gave a little shrug, but Harry noticed his features softened slightly before they turned back to the potion. "Don't." he drawled. "I only did it because I distaste the sight of human blood."

An incredulous snort of laughter escaped from Harry's nose before he could stop it. "That's a good one." At Malfoy's inquisitive look, he added with a snigger, "you can disembowel toads, work with armadillo bile and dissect newt's eyes, but you can't stand the sight of human blood."

He sniggered again and snuck another look at Malfoy to see his reaction. No doubt something sharp and hurtful would be sprouting out of the other boy's mouth any minute now, and Harry was almost looking forward to the inevitable banter. He hadn't had a chance to let loose like that for a while.

So it was quite unanticipated when nothing was said and the pale Slytherin stood quite still; his shoulders were rigid and his head bowed down to look at the potion. Then incredibly, Harry saw Malfoy visibly relax and the harsh edge from his face disappear as he looked up to meet Harry's eyes.

"Does sound a bit stupid, doesn't it?" Malfoy admitted uncharacteristically, and Harry was surprised at the almost unbidden smile that suddenly crept up on Malfoy's face. When he was like that, the Slytherin boy looked … almost human.

His surprise must have shown because it disappeared almost immediately to be covered by his trademark smirk. "Well _I _don't go around looking to get hurt or bloodied so I'm not used to it like you, being the droll Gryffindor you are."

Harry bit his lip to hide his smile. There was the expected jibe, though there was that extra bite missing. Harry found the comment almost pleasant when compared to previous comments thrown between the two and he wondered too, why their style of conversation had so suddenly changed. Only just before had they been snapping at each other like the enemies they were supposed to be. Now though …

"Of course," he agreed. "because you cry like a girl when you do … get bloodied, that is. I can completely understand."

The amusement in his tone must have been obvious because Malfoy didn't shoot back a tetchy reply involving Harry's parents or his friends. "You try getting gored by a Hippogriff." he grumbled instead.

"M'fraid after being stabbed by a basilisk, rampaging hippogriff's just don't do it for me," replied Harry, casually throwing in the next ingredient.

A startled choke came from Malfoy's direction but anything he was about to say was interrupted as the bell rang. Harry hurriedly dumped the last set of ingredients for the first stage of the potion as Draco stirred it twice in a counter-clockwise direction.

Just in time. As soon as the spoon in Draco's hand was lifted out of the cauldron, Snape commanded them to clear up and place their cauldrons in the store-room.

The two did so, already fallen back into the same silence that had been present during most of the lesson. Though this time it was more companionable than the last.

It was only until Harry rejoined Hermione, and then later Ron, that Harry realised he and Malfoy had had a civil conversation. No – more than civil, they had been joking with each other. It was almost friendly.

And Harry found that he didn't mind one bit. Grinning, he turned back his attention to his now arguing friends.

* * *

A few days after his memorable Potions lesson, and with no more sights of his mysterious invisible shadow, Harry looked at his watch. He was due to meet Hermione and Ron in the library, but that wasn't for another hour, and he had no idea where she and Ron had run off to. Probably his and Hermione's shared Head Boy and Girl common room, he thought, venturing a guess.

There was no point in seeking them out if they were there; they needed some time alone, or rather, he knew they would prefer some time alone without him tagging along as a third party. They wouldn't be so brash to say that directly to him, but he could tell they'd rather be off together, than play a game of exploding snap or chess with him.

He sighed, feeling like he was in the same position he was in all those nights before. Being left alone. He knew everyone else was once again off with their significant other. He'd seen Ginny drag Neville out of the common room a few minutes before, and Dean and Seamus were up to something in the boy's dorm room.

And really, after seven years at Hogwarts there was nowhere else to go. Ravenclaw had the Quidditch pitch that afternoon for their practice, so having a nice leisurely fly was out. Dobby would be too busy preparing for dinner so the kitchens weren't going to be a particularly nice place to relax. Harry thought hard. Where else? Oh … the Astronomy tower, but that had an Astronomy class in there at the moment, and he'd already visited Hagrid earlier that day, so he didn't think Hagrid would fancy another visit. Not when he could be spending that free time flooing over to Madame Maxime's place at Hogsmeade.

The only option left was the room of requirement, somewhere Harry hadn't been for a while. It was and had been a sore point to go there for Harry; many of the students he had taught in that room for DA had been hurt or killed during the war.

As his feet carried him to the room, Harry thought back to the ones he had seen happen before his eyes. Images flashed before his eyes; Parvati Patil being killed by a stray Severing charm, Lisa Turpin, and Dennis Creevey by the Killing Curse. Ernie MacMillan had lost a leg, Dean an eye. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been tortured to the point he had almost lost his mind. Though he fortunately hadn't, his nerves still had yet to recover. Those were the most painful and along with that image of Voldemort, they were what kept him awake most nights.

He pulled himself out of the memories as he felt a tightening from within his stomach, and looked up. Without realising it, he had almost reached the room; only a few corridors away in fact.

The tightening in his stomach grew as he stopped in front of where the door would be and he couldn't bring himself to do the required walk three times past the door. He didn't know what he wanted anymore to be able to do that. He didn't even know what he wanted to see, almost afraid it would bring up places from his worst nightmares.

It turned out it mattered little anyway.

At that same exact moment Harry stood hesitantly in front of the wall, an arm reached out to snake around his waist. His book bag went falling to the ground and too startled to react, Harry had only a matter of seconds before that arm pulled him around and enveloped him into an invisible embrace.

"Hey!" Like the night before, Harry was dumbstruck. Why was there some invisible person after him? Never mind the fact that Harry had never felt safer in those arms, he just wanted to know what they were after and if it really was just a cruel prank. "What the hell do you want with me?" he asked the same question he'd asked that first night, and as he expected, there was no answer.

Other than that same, exquisitely heartbreaking pair of lips cascading down on his.

"Mmmph." Harry tried to protest, but the other pair of lips wouldn't relent, latching onto his relentlessly. They sucked and nipped their way as he was pushed back against the wall in a familiar position, as teeth suddenly nipped at his bottom lip. The shock of it caused Harry's mouth to open and the other boy wasted no time in plunging a tongue in that wet cavern, probing and plundering. His wrists were transferred to one hand as the other weaved through the hair at the back of his head, stroking it gently, almost lovingly.

Harry was powerless against it all; he couldn't even think of doing anything but allow these actions to continue. It wasn't as though he could protest, because the other mouth wouldn't move far away enough for him to make an understandable noise and he couldn't move away because he was pinned up against a wall with his wrists trapped above his head. He didn't even think about the wand currently situated in his right pocket.

Nor did he really want to anyway. His previous definition of a kiss – again let's just say that what was happening to him at that moment … there wasn't really a word in his vocabulary that adequately described what he was feeling.

Even so, as much as Harry hated to admit it again, an increasingly uneasy feeling began to settle in his stomach and he was reminded of the reality of the situation. He couldn't let himself give in just yet, not when he didn't know why or what they were gaining from it. Let's face it, Harry was well aware that anybody who disillusions themselves before making out with somebody else must have a sufficient reason for it, and being shy wasn't really one of them. Disillusionment charms could only be successfully cast by witches and wizards confident in their abilities, so whoever it was behind the charm, he was powerful and well aware of it.

So when the other boy finally pulled back to breathe in some much-needed air, Harry once again resisted, defiantly turning his head to the side, and said, "Get off – s-stop it."

He didn't think his objections would work like that first night, but to his surprise, Harry found himself able to move again; his wrists were gently released and there was no longer any body against his. He rubbed thoughtfully at his wrists. They didn't hurt, but he could still feel the tingle on his skin from being held so tightly and possessively.

Admittedly, he was startled by such a brief acquiescence by the other boy, and couldn't help feeling more than a little confused. Harry had expected to do more than merely asking for the boy to let him go. After all, that other boy had once again been given the opportunity to go further with Harry, and he didn't take it. It was obvious that the other boy had the advantage over Harry. He was taller, stronger, and to top it all off, he had the element of surprise, being completely camouflaged by his surroundings.

Actually, Harry thought wryly. He's got more than that. The way he'd been feeling lately – so vulnerable and alone – the boy had much more of an advantage, because despite everything Harry was finding himself not wanting to stop that body-on-body, lips-on-lips contact.

Feeling off-key by that pathetic admission, Harry grabbed at his fallen book bag and took the remaining time to walk off his restlessness, choosing any which hallway to walk down. No doubt the other boy had long gone.

He couldn't explain it, but each time he had come across that invisible boy, he ended up feeling more confused than invaded … or assaulted. Perhaps it was because nobody had ever done something like that to him before, or perhaps it was because he'd been feeling exceedingly lonely these past months, watching his friends live their lives in bliss. Honestly, he couldn't figure it out.

His eyebrows lifted considerably when something else dawned on him. Didn't – didn't that figure stop their assault every time Harry told him to stop? It couldn't possibly be a coincidence that both times the boy stopped was as soon as Harry uttered the word 'stop' or something equally affective.

_So maybe_, he thought, trying to disguise his hope but failing miserably. _Maybe, this disillusioned figure wasn't trying to do anything against my will after all. Maybe he wanted whatever I could give. _

Feeling more confused than ever, Harry hefted the bag he'd been dragging along the ground, onto his shoulders and made his way slowly to the library. He'd deal with those thoughts later when he had the time. For now, he'd just have to forget about it and go and meet Hermione and Ron, as he was going to be late.

As Harry had guessed, Hermione was already sitting at their usual table when he entered the library, but Ron was suspiciously absent. Unfortunately, that meant the bushy-haired girl's attention was away from her boyfriend long enough to ambush him as soon as he approached her

"Harry! What on earth happened to you?"

Harry followed her gaze to his body, but didn't see anything amiss. He wasn't aware that the invisible figure had left anything on him. "What d'you mean?"

"No, no," Hermione tutted, and took out a small pocket-sized mirror. She handed it to Harry and motioned to his face. "You look as though …" she trailed off, a pink tinge making an appearance on her face.

Huh? Feeling confused, Harry raised the mirror to his own face. "_Oh!_" he gasped, finally understanding what Hermione was trying to say to him. It hadn't occurred to him there would be proof of his last encounter, which was rather stupid of him as his cheeks were noticeably flushed, and his bottom lip swollen. Even his tie was slightly off target and his hair looked as though somebody had constantly run their hands through it … which, admittedly they did. "No- no, it's nothing like that." he assured Hermione hastily. "I just er- I – I had a run-in with Peeves."

It was a vague excuse, but considering Peeve's behaviour lately, it was a plausible one. He really didn't want Hermione to know there was some boy who disillusioned himself to get it on with him in deserted hallways.

Thankfully Hermione seemed to buy it and she said nothing else on the matter. "Well," she said, "it's a good thing you decided to show up at all. Someone decided he'd rather be playing some magic board game first than study for NEWTS. Honestly, I -"

Without the presence of his red-headed friend, Harry had a good idea who she was referring to and tuned out the usual rambling that accompanied. He stifled a snicker, the thought _bickering like an old married couple_ coming to mind. He didn't voice it though. The last time he'd pointed towards anything like that, Ron had almost had a coronary on the spot and Hermione had uncharacteristically started blushing like a little schoolgirl.

Instead, Harry burrowed his head into a book Hermione placed in front of him, and began to read the title of the chapter '_Vanishing Charms – to be or not to be – how to successfully search for something or someone vanished into thin air.'_

A wry grin spread on his face at the title. How appropriate. He dipped his head back down, the grin not leaving his face. He read attentively, occasionally jotting down notes for the Transfiguration assignment due in two days time. He wanted to get it done that night as the next would be spent out on the Quidditch pitch, for the Gryffindor practice. Their first official practice actually, since the war, so he was pretty excited. Due to safety precautions, Harry hadn't been allowed to fly outside with his firebolt for months.

When Ron finally joined them to work, undoubtedly with the same plan Harry had, Harry greeted him with a lopsided grin and shifted over, before going back to his work.

The three continued to work together peacefully - used to each other's company, and Hermione's attitudes to work - until it grew dark in the library.

When Madam Pince started lighting the torches around the library, one last line was added to the four inches of parchment he'd previously written, and Harry leant back with a satisfied sigh.

Hermione looked up. "Finished?" she enquired.

Harry nodded. "You two done?"

At Hermione's nod, Ron snapped his own books shut. "I'd say I'm about finished too." he declared, patting his stomach.

And with an unspoken agreement that had become habit for the past seven years, the three packed their things together, and left the library. Walking towards the Gryffindor common room, Harry snuck a look at his watch and saw that they'd spent so much time in the library that it was now dinner time. There was no need to tell Ron, he seemed to realise this as well, and with a practiced ease, he took Hermione's arm in his own and they swiftly changed directions, this time heading for the Great Hall.

As Harry walked beside his two best friends, throwing in a word or two into the conversation, he surreptitiously looked around the hallways, somehow feeling a bit disappointed because he knew that his mysterious shadow wouldn't be making another appearance that night.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's another done, and I would like to briefly thank **LunaLovegood61**, **Earwen Colomanel, Hayla Canter, HOnEySkY, Skyler of the elements, Goldilocks31890, Vergin, Jack Robinson and dragonsprincess **for reviewing the last chapter!

I hope people continue to read on and like I said in my bio (if anybody bothers to read, which I'm sure they don't), I thrive on reviews as I'm sure most other writers here on ff.net do. So please, please leave a review :)


	3. Deep Scars

**Title:** Obscurity of Love 

**Author:** mony2208 

**Rating: **R, just to be safe for later chapters

**Warnings: **Slash (relationship between two males), some bad words and possible unsettling scenes

**Summary:** Haunted by memories of the war, Harry can't move on with his life. He feels left behind and lacking that one thing his mother had saved him with when he was one year old. Love. With all his friends around already finding love, will Harry allow a mysterious, obscured figure into his life and into his heart? Harry/Draco slash

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Forewords: **For all those readers of my other stories, I apologise for starting yet another story, but don't worry, this story will be a total of 6 chapters, and they are already ¾ done. I just needed to get this story out of my system before I could possibly update my others. I do hope you like this very different genre. It's only my second attempt at a H/D story, so feel free to give me any pointers.

Sorry for the delay, this chapter took longer than I expected – It probably had to do with the fact that it's over 6000 words, lol. Ah well. It is un-betaed, but after my beta finishes her exams I'll send her all the chapters and have them reposted. Hope you like it anyway!

Oh, also, for the people still waiting for Diametrically Opposed, don't worry, I am going to update by the end of this week. So please don't leave reviews for this story asking about it.

* * *

**Obscurity of Love**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

****

_Deep scars_

Two days later, deep in the confine of the Gryffindor common room, Harry tapped an impatient foot against his arm chair and took what had to be his hundredth look at his watch.

Twenty minutes to go.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Only five minutes since he'd looked at it the last time.

He frowned; his quill now joining in on the impatient rhythm. His eyes refused to re-focus on the parchment lying in his lap. Never mind that it was his own handwriting he was currently staring at; he could have been looking at the most impeccable and neatest writing at Hogwarts (ie: Hermione's writing) and nothing would have penetrated through to Harry currently unavailable brain.

At that, his frown turned into a small sigh.

That day had passed by as something like a blur to Harry. Classes, mealtimes, _everything_ he did he had done mechanically, as though in a dream. His friends had obviously noticed his odd behaviour; though after a bit of prodding, they'd chalked it up to his excitement for the upcoming Quidditch practice.

Even _Malfoy_ had noticed during their Potions lesson that afternoon. They'd managed to maintain their somewhat civil behaviour since their superfluous partnership, Malfoy having asked what had his scarred face looking so unnaturally melancholy and thoughtful.

Harry didn't tell him, or anyone else for that matter, but earlier that morning, his Head of House had approached him about scheduling a meeting with her. At first, Harry had been unsure just what this meeting was supposed to be about, and he had asked quickly if something had happened.

McGonagall had been quick to assure Harry there was nothing wrong, but what she had to say after that had made Harry think otherwise.

The meeting, she had replied, was for Harry's future; what exactly he wanted to do after graduating from Hogwarts in the upcoming months. What he wanted to apply for before he had to take his NEWT's, which were swiftly approaching.

As Harry had continuously thought since the war had finally been won, working out just that was a sore point for him. Even just the idea of _surviving_ the war was something Harry hadn't considered since the end of his fifth year.

For a while, he had even thought to kill Voldemort, he would have to die too … and he'd accepted it. For as Dumbledore had said to him in his first year, death was but the next greatest adventure, and Harry knew that might mean reuniting with his true family - his parents, Sirius and Remus.

Sure, once upon a time, where he had been a fair amount more careless and unsuspecting than he was now, he had wanted to be an auror. He had thought to be out in the world chasing after dark wizards and animals would be exciting, and always an adventure; something he'd always loved, being the typical Gryffindor he was.

But now, after killing Voldemort, and knowing exactly what being an auror would entail, Harry didn't want to continue on with that life. He didn't want to spend it chasing after and apprehending any of those dark creatures. He knew it wouldn't just be an adventure. Lives would be endangered, including that of his and of the things he was chasing. This was not one of Dudley's playstation games. If he killed someone, he wouldn't be able to move on and remain unaffected. That sort of thing remained with a person for the rest of their life.

Harry knew because he _had_ killed people - many people - during the war. Death eaters and Voldemort of course, but people nonetheless. He didn't even want to think on what he had done to some of those people when dwelling in the worst pits of fury. Though Voldemort had been a bloodthirsty, and inherently dark wizard, Harry had not been pleased for finally seeking his revenge. It had been a hollow victory; too much had been taken from his life for him to be content. He just wanted it all over so he could return back to whatever normality his life consisted of … which didn't include killing more dark wizards. Harry's job was done.

And as something he'd pondered that very night his mysterious disillusioned figure turned up, he wasn't sure there was a life to continue on now that was all finished.

Everywhere he would go, it would be his name that determined their opinions, their judgements. He was no longer a person; it was all about his title, his stupid unwanted fame.

Harry hadn't wanted to tell any of this to McGonagall of course - tell her that he had no interest in continuing on with his fifth year pipe dream - so he had merely nodded and agreed to a meeting in one week's time to sort out everything.

Leading him to his very subdued state during the day, too apprehensive to say anything to anyone, and keeping it bottled up like everything else in his life.

Hermione and Ron had both previously asked him what he was planning to do, of course. As soon as anything about his future came up, Hermione was practically doing everything - bar shoving pamphlets down his throat – to help him decide.

At one point, Ron had even suggested he just go and start a Quidditch career as a Seeker, until Hermione had soundly whacked him on the head. Nevertheless, as Harry remembered back to that moment, it was something Harry had considered for the rest of the day, seeing how much he was clearly anticipating the Quidditch practice to come later that very afternoon.

It was true; flying was and always had been the only release Harry had in his life. For some reason, as soon as his feet left the ground, all the worries and little niggling feelings he had, were left behind. He might have inherited those flying genes from his father, but for once, Harry knew it was something that belonged to him, as Harry Potter, and it was one of the few things he didn't mind the attention for. His name never mattered when he and another Seeker went head to head for the snitch. The snitch wouldn't fly into his hands just because he was the damn Boy-who-lived-to-be-the-world's-saviour. This was something that depended on him and his talent only.

Consequently, that was the very reason his subduedness had been almost completely shoved to the back-burner, and he was so jittery at that very moment, counting down the minutes … as the mention of flying was prone to do to Harry.

In twenty minutes, he would he having his last Gryffindor Quidditch practice as Captain and as a student of Hogwarts – and he wanted to enjoy every last possible minute of it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Harry shook himself out of his musings as he heard Ron whistling a familiar "Weasley is our King" tune under his breath, and grinning slightly, Harry adjusted his tapping to mesh with the tune. Ron shot him a lopsided grin, which was quickly wiped away when Hermione snapped her head up from her work to look up at them.

At the apparent gleam in her eye, Harry too ceased his noise, and hastily forced his eyes back onto the half-blank parchment. He didn't want to be the one to push his already high strung best friend off the proverbial cliff. He was well aware of how much Hermione was restraining herself from clocking them both over the head with her precious books. The day before the encounter with McGonagall, they'd been bugging her with their constant bouncing about and talk about Quidditch.

Note that being Captain of the team with Ron as his strategy conspirator, their idea of talking about Quidditch meant non-stop until either somebody yelled at them, or they ran out of breath. The latter hadn't yet occurred, though the two boys had been screamed at by no less than three different teachers and six students throughout the course of the previous day.

Through his eyelashes, he saw Hermione tut silently, before returning back to her own furious scribbling on her already three-quarter filled parchment.

Harry barely concealed his relief at that, but as he looked back down, he felt his concentration wane once more. He couldn't even remember what work he was meant to be writing about; his mind had already joined his twenty – no, Harry took another look at his watch - make that fifteen minute future self, where he would be high into the air, flying freely around the Quidditch stands, through the goal-rings, down into a dive, his team-mates urging him on …

His quill, unknowingly resumed its tapping against his knee.

"Oh - for heavens sake." Hermione burst out, yanking both of the two startled boy's work out of their hands. She slammed them onto the table. "Just _go _then. You aren't getting any work done as it is. Ron's book has been upside down for the past _half_ hour."

Ron looked mildly contrite as he sent a sheepish grin in his girlfriend's direction. He offered a quick, "Sorry," which of course would have been much more effective had his hand not already been straying over to the broomstick that lay by his feet.

Harry snickered, but he wasn't one to talk; not only did he already have his broomstick in his grasp, but also all of his Quidditch gear and the Gryffindor uniform hidden underneath his school robe. He'd changed before meeting up with Hermione to study.

Hermione waved an exasperated arm in the air. "Go before I change what's left of my mind." she muttered.

Harry looked at Ron at the same time Ron's head turned to his. "Well come on then." he said. "What are we waiting for?"

The two stood up in unison, and after Ron gave his girlfriend a peck on the cheek, and Harry waved her off, the Quidditch crazy boys took off through the portrait, and raced out onto the Quidditch field for their Gryffindor practice.

It didn't matter that there was still another fifteen minutes to go until their practice. Harry and Ron spent that time changing into their gear, and going over the plans for the upcoming game, which would inevitably determine the winner of the Quidditch Cup. They were really hoping it would be them that held the cup for the fourth year in a row (excluding Harry's fourth year).

As Ron was halfway through his Chaser-duck formation, the rest of the team burst through the change-room doors, looking at least, if not more excited than Harry and Ron still were.

"Here on time, Captain." Ginny stated, giving a rather foolish salute.

Everybody else came to a halt behind her and gave their own greetings to the Captain and his red-headed best friend. An excited chatter filled the room as the other players changed, and soon enough they were all standing in the middle of the main change-room all ready to go.

"All right, team!" Harry shouted, clapping his hands to gain the attention of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had to swallow his own excitement at the prospect he was about to go out and finally fly again. It had been such a long time since it was safe for him to do things like flying and going on the Hogsmeade weekends.

At the sound of his voice, everybody obediently shifted their attention to him. "As you all know," he began, "this practice will be for our last game, which is only three weeks away."

He received an emphatic nod from everyone as well as a whoop from Ron. "One more game then that Cup's back where it belongs!" Ron cried out.

There was a chorus of "Yeah!" 's from the rest of the Quidditch team, and the two beaters Colin Creevey and Andrew Kirke banged their bats together enthusiastically. Harry remembered with a pang that Colin and Dennis used to do the same thing up until their last game before the final battle, where Dennis had been killed.

He shook his head, trying to purge all unpleasant thoughts out of his mind for the time being. "Now," he said, then moved on to talk about the last game of the season and consequently his Hogwarts career. After an uplifting speech, Harry stopped to look at Ron, and allowed him to take over as he talked about some upcoming plays they wanted to practice on that afternoon.

Eventually, Harry and Ron finished their little strategising meeting, and they took it out onto the field – something Harry had been itching to do ever since McGonagall had given them the go ahead to practice.

As they came out of the change-rooms and onto the Quidditch pitch, Hermione was surprisingly waiting out in the stands with a few other students. The fifteen minutes with them not in her presence seemed to do the world of good for the bushy-haired girl, and though she still had a book in her hand, her attention was clearly on her boyfriend.

Ron caught sight of her after a quick nudge from Harry, and grinning stupidly, he handed Harry his Cleansweep Seven and rushed over to give her another quick kiss.

"Smooch later, Ronnikins!" Ginny called out, causing Ron's ears to turn red. He withdrew from his girlfriend with an equally red face, but Hermione gave him another supporting peck.

Harry couldn't hold back the brief pang of envy in the pit of his stomach, and quickly swallowing it, he looked away and motioned for the team to come together and to mount their brooms.

Whilst the rest of the team went through drills with the Quaffle and Bludgers, Harry flew above them, occasionally barking out commands as he did a twirl or a roll. It wasn't his usual flying exploits, but being Captain meant he couldn't just think of himself, so he remained content to watching the rest of the team have their fun, joining in on a drill or two.

A few times whilst he sat there, barely moving on his broomstick, he felt that same odd sensation indicating that he was being watched. That in itself wasn't unusual; being rather a pop icon in the wizarding world, he was constantly watched by younger students infatuated with him and his scar.

What was unusual about this time was that it didn't feel the same. This look sent a lingering shiver down his spine, lasting much longer and affecting him much deeper than any of his mindless fans.

But every time his keen eyes searched the stands, he couldn't see anyone or anything unusual or out of place. Other than Hermione and the other odd Gryffindor fan, nobody else sat in those stands, watching him with what Harry imagined to be some intense expression on their face.

Doing a thoughtful 360 degree roll, Harry wondered briefly if it was his mysterious obscured figure waiting in the Quidditch stands, watching him under that familiar disillusionment charm, but he discarded it before his imagination flew away from him.

In the few days that had passed, this boy had not yet made a third appearance, and Harry feared that this time it would really be permanent, that he had scared the other boy off for good. It wasn't as though the other boy was getting anything from it – both times Harry had clearly refused him before anything went furtherer than a simple kiss.

The only thing stopping him from suspecting the whole debacle had been some sort of a practical joke or bet, was the lack of publicity. Not one person had uttered a solitary word about the two encounters, which meant no teasing, no taunting and no newspaper articles. Surely that had to mean something, he kept telling himself

But it was to no avail. There was just no sign of that disillusioned boy and Harry doubted he ever would get that chance again.

"Hey Harry – catch!" Shivering a bit, he turned back to his team, catching the Quaffle from Ron and swiftly passing it off to Colin Creevey.

* * *

Long after everyone else from the Gryffindor Quidditch team had left for dinner, Harry was still found zipping through the air on his faithful Firebolt. No snitch was being chased after, nor were there any fans urging him to perform death-defying moves. It was just the pure exhilaration at being in the air, and being able to move freely without worries that spurred Harry on. He twisted and turned, rolled and dipped; all done with an unrestrained passion that Harry had not been able to release for such a long time.

Feeling better and more confident than ever, Harry ended in a sharp nose-dive, only pulling up from the ground when it almost seemed to swallow him whole. He laughed with delight as his knees skimmed the grass, and his heart pounded with the adrenaline rush as his feet finally settled back onto firm ground, noticing for the first time, that night had almost fallen.

He looked around in surprise, and cheeks flushed and hair blown out into every direction, Harry headed off to the change-rooms; the building's outline visible in the growing darkness of the night.

Shrugging complacently – as being out in the night-time didn't daunt him much - Harry entered the deserted change-rooms and walked into the boy's section. He placed his broom carefully over by his gear, then quickly stripping out of his uniform, and grabbing a towel, he walked towards the showers.

After the war, Harry had become uncomfortable being in close proximity to anyone; especially when it came to Quidditch or showering with others. Even in his dorm amongst mates, it was hard for Harry to relax or to allow his friends to see all that the war had made him.

His insecurity had partly to do with the remembrance of what had been done to him during the final battle, and partly due to the results of that battle.

He looked down, a grimace already present on his lips. Added to his childhood scars, he now had an array of faint scars running from his torso up to his neck, as well as on his arms and legs. Though they weren't particularly discernible due to his tanned skin, he felt a self-awareness of each and every one; knowing where each had come from and what had been sacrificed to get them.

He turned the taps on full blast and as he waited for the water to adjust to the right temperature, he lightly trailed a finger just above his navel, where the most noticeable scar on his body (bar the one on his head) lay. It was a long, jagged scar that made him quiver in disgusted remembrance every time without fail … reminding him of his almost failures, his disappointments.

Shaking his head firmly, he wrenched his now trembling fingers away and forced them under the spray of rapidly heating water. He couldn't think about it again. The war was over, Voldemort's ashes spread across the continent; never again to be reunited to form the monster he had once been.

When the water reached the right temperature, Harry pulled out his hand out from underneath the shower and stepped in, allowing the stream of gloriously hot water to play over his tense and aching muscles.

He moaned softly, resting his forehead on the shower wall and closing his eyes as the water cascaded down his neck and then the length of his back. The harsh spray on his body was heaven after the long hours spend flying on his broom, and the tension and worries that had been building up for the past week. He could already feel his muscles loosening from the pounding force of the shower.

Slowly, not wanting to get out of the shower anytime soon, Harry leisurely took his time, alternating between washing himself, and just relaxing underneath.

Sometime halfway through his shower, soundlessly and out of the blue, there was another pressure on his shoulders, gently starting to knead through the kinks in his muscles where the water had missed. This had the characteristics of his invisible friends, and after a predictable jump at the unexpected touch, Harry lifted his head up from the wall to look - almost hopefully - over his shoulder.

As suspected, there was nothing but a faint outline, silhouetted by the silvery mist that swirled around them, and a rush of relief swept over Harry. After all his fears over the past week, the disillusioned figure hadn't grown tired of him after all, nor could it be any sort of a practical joke. He apparently still wanted Harry regardless of Harry's inhibitions.

Harry didn't know why – perhaps the unknown feeling of someone doing this decided it for him, or even the pang of loneliness he had felt earlier as he watched Ron and Hermione together on the Quidditch pitch. Either way, he shifted his gaze back to the shower, and for the first time didn't resist the other boy's advances, choosing instead to willingly stay within reach.

He couldn't even feel embarrassed at the realisation someone else was watching him, in this naked and vulnerable state. Again, he just let himself enjoy the companionable warmth of another so intimate with him, allowing the hands to continue on with their ministrations; all whilst trying valiantly to ignore the increasing arousal those hands were creating.

It was hard not to react to such a new and pleasurable feeling, but just when Harry had almost convinced his body to do just that, the skilful fingers found a particularly sensitive place in-between his shoulder blades, and Harry couldn't help himself. He moaned appreciatively, throwing his head back in pleasure.

The hands seemed suitably convinced and more pressure was applied as they progressively moved down his back, skilfully weaving their magic into his rapidly melting muscles along the way.

With the combination of those invisible hands and the pounding force from the shower, Harry was overcome with sensation and he could hardly hold himself up; his knees were trembling, almost threatening to buckle from beneath him.

The invisible figure seemed to realise this and arms were swiftly slipped around Harry's waist, the other figure drawing in closer until Harry's back rested against a fully clothed, and considerably wetter chest. The figure didn't seem to mind at all though. Now in place of the other boy's hands, soft kisses were being bestowed on Harry's shoulders and neck, sending continuous tremors down his spine.

Harry had never felt something so intoxicating in the way those invisible hands slid across his slick stomach, and the kisses that were so reverently given. Even the mere presence of the other boy spread a searing warmth around his body, surrounding him utterly, and completely.

Then one hand began to make the same trail over the scar that his fingers had only just previously journeyed.

Nobody else had ever touched any of his scars before, especially that one, and the sheer realisation of it had Harry instinctively jerking away, the moment all but gone as he broke contact with the other body.

"S-stop." he forced out, but as he spoke, his breath caught in his throat and it could hardly be heard, or understood. _Now was not the time to be having a panic attack_, he warned himself slightly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Still not facing the other boy, Harry expelled a shaky breath and bit the inside of his bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Only when he managed to do so successfully did he speak again. "Stop." he said in a firmer tone, finally turning around to face the visibly unfilled space. "Please." The last was almost spoken pleadingly, and Harry shamefully turned his head away.

With the magic word being spoken, there was a soft sound of movement as the figure once again relented, and moved swiftly out of the shower. Harry couldn't help but watch - from the corner of his eyes - the wet footprints that appeared as the disillusioned boy headed towards the exit door.

Only when the footprints had receded and the door to the change-rooms closed shut did Harry's façade crumble and turning the tap off viciously, he grabbed at a towel, putting all of his anger and frustration into drying himself. He hardly noticed the imprints his rough handling had on his body; he was too busy berating himself at another spectacular disaster.

He was always letting the war get the better of his life, and this was no different. The whole week in which that other boy hadn't made his appearance, Harry had secretly longed for those invisible touches, remembered the feeling of those mind-numbing kisses. Now even when given that opportunity of – of whatever this was exactly … Harry screwed it up.

Harry shoved his sweaty Quidditch uniform into his school bag, and swore silently to himself.

But there was one thing he did know for sure. He wouldn't let himself be caught off-guard like that ever again.

* * *

A week later, Harry walked dishearteningly through the hallways for his Potions lesson. He'd just come from the dreaded meeting with McGonagall, and as expected it was every bit as awkward and depressing that Harry had originally thought.

By the time the meeting had concluded, McGonagall was still without an answer, Harry choosing to say he was currently undecided. McGonagall, obviously hadn't been too pleased; she'd given him a lengthy lecture on wasting the future possibilities offered to him, but she had relented, scheduling another meeting with him one month away.

In Harry's opinion it was one month too soon, but he took what he could get gratefully, and had quickly left, with the excuse he would be late for his Potions lesson.

And now there he was, on his way to Potions, even though the class wouldn't really start for another twenty minutes.

When he turned a corner rather distantly, the last thing he was expecting to come upon was the middle of a sparring match between Ron and Malfoy.

The uneasy truce between Harry and Malfoy for their partnered potion had remained exactly that; between Harry and Malfoy. Ron had certainly not been included in that truce. Harry would have thought the world had come to an end when Malfoy and Ron made some sort of peace. He knew that the two would never be anything less than enemies to each other.

At the sight of his friend and previous enemy facing each other with no small amount of malice, Harry stopped abruptly in his tracks, and considered whether or not to interrupt yet. They might not do anything other than the occasional sniping.

"-go back to the dungeons, Malfoy." he heard Ron say harshly, looking as though he was fingering his wand in his robe pocket. "It's the only place you and the rest of your cowardly snakes belong."

Then again, maybe not. Harry took a cautious step forward, but the two other boys' attention was on each other.

"Cowardly?" Malfoy laughed right in Ron's face, though his grey eyes remained cold and hard. "It wasn't cowardly. Us _snakes_ were able to sit back and relax while you did all the dirty work. I'd call it cunning and being the wizards purebloods are meant to be. But then again, I expect you wouldn't understand. Your family's been doing the _dirty_ work for centuries. They wouldn't know much else."

Harry expected Ron to lunge at that comment and started to take another step forward, but Ron only stood there, glaring back at Malfoy. "My family's dirty? What about yours? One five foot under and the other sure to follow soon. That's really something to be proud of, eh Malfoy?"

The smirk was wiped straight off Malfoy's face and even Harry stifled a shocked gasp. Nobody had dared utter a word about Malfoy's parents; at least not after the last person had been hospitalised for a week.

What Ron had said came to no surprise to Harry. It was common knowledge what had happened to Malfoy's parents. During the final battle, Lucius Malfoy had fallen; shot down by the Killing Curse. Harry had seen him be killed, and watched as another disgraceful Death Eater, Narcissa Malfoy, his wife, had been captured in the aftermath and immediately given a life sentence at a newly rebuilt Azkaban prison.

Harry had never seen Malfoy grieve at the loss of his two parents, but then again, not grieving didn't mean he had cared for them. And it was obvious that he did, by the current look on his face and the silence Ron's comment had struck.

Harry decided to make his move. "Right." he said, approaching the two boys. He grabbed Ron's arm, and tugged at it roughly. "I think you've both said enough."

But Ron stubbornly pushed Harry away. "No." he spat, not taking his eyes off Malfoy. "I want to give Malfoy a piece of my mind. He's been asking for it since the day he was born."

As Ron took another step towards Malfoy, Harry pushed his way in front of him. He was dwarfed considerably by both, but many had made the mistake of underestimating him before.

"Let's go, Ron." he said evenly. "This isn't worth fighting over."

"Stuff it Potter." At the sound of Malfoy's voice, Harry spun around to face the other boy. Harry had never seen him so angry. That expression of loneliness and helplessness Harry had briefly seen had been wiped clean from his face. Now he was wearing an expression dripping with utter loathing and the words that followed had never been more scathing. "Even with your little saviour complex, you can't save everyone." Malfoy tipped his head slightly, before, "But I think you already know that, don't you?"

Harry was too stricken to react – _where had their truce gone?_ - and Ron was given the opportunity to continue on with their argument.

"Shut up Malfoy. You wouldn't know anything, you disgusting ferret."

"Better than being that beaver you call your girlfriend." retorted Malfoy.

Still shocked from what Malfoy had said, Harry only shook his head in disbelief. Ron however immediately made a leap for the Slytherin.

"No. Ron!" Harry shouted it all too late. Ron had already drawn back a fist and punched the Slytherin full in the face.

Malfoy staggered back, looking murderous and about ready to strike back. Raising one hand to touch at the cut lip, the other swiftly pulled out his wand. "Always resorting to muggle methods, Weasel," he snarled. "How about I show you how a real wizard fights?"

"NO!" Harry stepped in between the two as Ron pulled out his own wand. He decided to take his own drastic measures. "_Expelliarmus!_" Both boys' wands flew out of their hands, and Harry summoned them to him. "Twenty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for fighting, and if you don't stop now, I'll up it to fifty and a detention each." he said, looking every inch the Head Boy of Hogwarts.

Ron looked aghast. "Harry, how can you-"

"Take control of yourselves." Harry snapped back, eyes flashing angrily. "You could have involved any innocent bystander in this stupid duel of yours, and-" Here Harry faced Malfoy fiercely, "if I have to act like the _saviour_ to stop it, then I damn well will."

Malfoy stared evenly back, but he backed down, sheathing his wand into his robe pocket.

Ron was less easy to convince. "How can you stop me?" he exclaimed. "I'm sick of him insulting _my_ family. Take a look at his. Where'd his so called purity of blood get him now?"

Harry's voice was low. "Ron, what you are doing is low." he said firmly. You have no right to say those things about his family, just as Malfoy has no right to say those things about yours."

"Well you wouldn't know what it's like." Ron spat, still trying to shove past Harry. "You don't have any family."

Harry jerked back, stunned.

"I might not have a _blood_ family," Harry said shakily, trying to reign in the pain that comment had brought up. "but I've always thought of you as mine."

His eyes blinked rapidly as he stared at the space above his best friend's shoulder. What Ron had said, just solidified every doubt he'd been having over the past few months, because no matter how much Ron, Hermione and his family meant to Harry, they would be moving on with their lives …

And Harry would be left behind.

Ron turned to him, eyes gleaming apologetically as the impact of what he had said seemed to sink in. "I – I didn't mean it like that." he stuttered. "It was just in the heat of the moment-"

"Yes," Harry returned squarely, still not looking directly at Ron. "See what happens when you let your anger get away from you. Even your best mate isn't safe from it."

He continued to stand there, limbs not wanting to work properly - but then suddenly remembering Malfoy was still there, Harry squared his shoulders and gave the other boy a parting glance before spinning on his heel.

"Kill yourself if you bloody want to. I – I just don't care anymore." he threw over his shoulder as he walked away.

He all but forgot about the Potions Class he was originally heading for; the fury and anguish palpable in his aura as it led him blindly to the Gryffindor Tower.

He heard Ron following after him, calling him to wait, but Harry only increased his hurried strides. It had already been said, and he felt just like he had in fourth year when Ron had been jealous of him. But he knew that this time jealousy wasn't the case. At least not on Ron's part anyway.

Gritting his teeth, Harry lowered his head, not faltering in his stride.

However, with Ron being the lanky teenager he was, Ron managed to catch up to him just as he climbed through the portrait.

"Harry," said Ron panting. He grabbed onto Harry's arm, only for it to be shaken off angrily as Harry continued to head for the stairs, refusing to look back.

Ron grabbed his arm again, more forcefully this time, enough to spin Harry around.

"_What_?" Harry shouted, not caring that he was making a scene in the fairly active common room. As it was still in between classes, there were still quite a few people present. "What the hell do you want now?"

"Harry – I'm _sorry_," Ron tightened his grip as he looked pleadingly at Harry. "W-what I said wasn't true. I – I didn't mean it."

"Just leave me alone, Ron." Harry snapped irritably, not wanting to deal with Ron at that moment. He went to yank his arm away, feeling that familiar white hot anger licking at his throat, threatening to escape, threatening to find something to vent upon.

"But Harry-" Ron tried to protest.

"No!"

"You've got Potions-"

Harry exploded, shouting as loud as his lungs could possibly take, as much as his throat could possibly give. "I DON'T CARE. I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!"

The common room was struck silent as Harry stood there, chest heaving angrily and throat raw. He was shaking from head to foot, fists clenched by his side as he looked directly at Ron, who looked considerably shocked at Harry's outburst.

It was the first time he'd shouted like that since Sirius's death in Dumbledore's office. First time he'd ever shown so much emotion in front of anyone as a matter of fact. He'd kept everything bottled up for so long. Before the war, through the war, and up until now, after the war as well.

Ron took a small step backwards and Harry's anger instantly deteriorated at the look of fear that crossed his red headed friend's face.

"Just – please." Harry drew a shaky, still clenched hand across his face. His posture slumped tiredly, dejectedly. He couldn't face Potions in this condition, and certainly not Malfoy. _Saviour my ass. _"Go to your next class. I'm fine."

Ron gave him another look, this time of worry, but then nodded and backed away. "I – I'll tell Hermione you're not feeling - well." he said, stumbling slightly over the words.

"Yeah - thanks." Harry replied softly. He didn't wait for Ron to say anything else, tiredly turning one last time to the stairs and ascending each step with a heavy feeling in his heart.

As soon as he reached the safety of his dorm room, which was thankfully empty, he flung the door shut behind him, and locked it with a powerful locking spell.

He stood by the door for a painstaking moment, closing his eyes against the rush of pain and humiliation that flooded him. Then in one fluid moment, Harry turned and punched his fist into the nearest stone wall.

There was an audible crunch as knuckles meant unrelenting stone, and a momentary blessed numbness overcame Harry, before a shooting pain replaced it, lancing its way through his fingertips and up to his lower arm.

Along with the pain now residing in his heart, he clutched at his injured arm instinctively, cradling it in against his chest as he sank to the floor and lowered his head.

His eyes remained dry even as the torment engulfed him, and he wished - like so many moments before - with every being in his body that he could have just had a normal life, instead of the completely messed up one he was barely living now.

* * *

**A/N:** And that's the third chapter. What do you all think? Are Harry's feelings understandable and believable enough? I'm still trying to get it right, but I figured I'd post this up now.

Oh and I have also permanently changed this story rating to R, as I do not want to experience the wrath of ff.net's zero tolerance policy. Sorry for the chopping and changing, but I don't fancy this story or my name to get booted off ff.net.


	4. Release

**Title:** Obscurity of Love 

**Author:** mony2208 

**Rating: **R, just to be safe for later chapters

**Warnings: **Slash (relationship between two males), some bad words and possible unsettling scenes

**Summary:** Haunted by memories of the war, Harry can't move on with his life. He feels left behind and lacking that one thing his mother saved him with all those years ago ... Love. With all his friends already finding love, will Harry allow a mysterious, obscured figure into his life and into his heart? Harry/Draco slash

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Forewords: **Here's the next chapter - only two more to go after this! And before anyone who reads my other stories can protest, updates for my two other stories will be updated this week. I am experiencing problems with them, but will not be discontinuing them! So please don't leave it in any reviews for this story!

**

* * *

**

**Obscurity of Love**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Release _

__

By the time Ron and the other boys had returned from their afternoon classes, Harry had reigned in his spectacular temper – not to mention torrents of grief - and was quietly lying on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Uh – mate?" Ron's cautious voice did nothing to change Harry's position; he merely blinked, waiting for Ron to continue on.

"What?" he asked when Ron didn't.

Now Ron's voice was hesitant as he grew closer to Harry's bed. Harry could just see him out of the corner of his eye. "Hermione - wanted to tell you that Snape gave you a - detention tonight for missing class."

Harry groaned, finally moving. He rolled onto the side not facing Ron and looked at his watch – it was almost time for dinner.

"Great." he muttered, then added louder, "Did Hermione say when it was tonight?"

"Straight after dinner." Ron answered apologetically, and Harry finally turned to look at Ron. His friend looked distinctly uncomfortable, eyes riveted to the ground as he scuffed a nervous foot on the crimson red carpet.

It was obvious he regretted his earlier words.

Harry sighed, slowly standing up. He knew that Ron hadn't meant to say it; it was written all over his honest and open face. It just hurt Harry that he _had_ said it.

He knew that people didn't say things they'd never thought about before. It had to exist somewhere in their subconscious, stewing there for a while. Deep down Ron had to have thought about it in at least one respect, just like he had once been jealous over Harry's wealth and popularity. Harry should know, he'd thought about the same thing over the past months … whether he deserved to be part of their family or not.

There was no doubt that Ron cared deeply for him as a close friend, the closest in fact. They'd endured so much together before and after the war that Harry couldn't imagine a life without his red-headed friend, nor his clan of red-heads siblings and parents.

But Harry was well aware of what danger he had put Ron and his family in, more danger than what most other people who had been involved in the war were dealt with. Not only in the final battle, but in the months that had ensued before. Many times following Harry fifth year, Voldemort had specifically targeted the Weasleys for their connection with Harry. In the most successful attempts, Mr Weasley had been ambushed in an attack in the beginning of Harry's seventh year, leaving him without a leg and lucky to be alive. Months later, Percy had been killed and then during the final battle Charlie had been targeted with the very same curse that had been sent to Hermione all those years ago in the Department of Mystery. He had, like his father, survived, but would have mobility problems for life.

Harry had often secretly wondered in the months that had passed how could those very same people want to still have him as part of their family – the one who had caused them all this pain and loss. As much as he had wanted it, he hadn't felt he had the right to be there when Percy wasn't and Arthur and Charlie were so _damaged_. He had felt worthless and filthy for taking advantage of it.

Harry had only two fears in his life. One was that they too would realise over time what Harry felt was true, and just simply not want him in their presence anymore. Like the Dursleys as soon as his time with them was up, kicking him out like he was yesterday's garbage.

The other fear of Harry's was that even if they didn't realise this, they would move on with their lives nonetheless, never looking back to realise he was being left behind, amongst the grips and memories of the war that had been his only life.

And in the end, that's _exactly_ what had made Ron's comment all the worse for Harry. All his lingering doubts, _both_ his secret fears; t_hey_ were what had been sparked. Fuelled, even by the thoughtless words.

What if they didn't want him after he graduated Hogwarts? What if they forgot about him or no longer cared about him?

Sighing inwardly this time, Harry licked his lips and went to pass Ron to the bathrooms. A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him halfway and Harry didn't need to turn to know just whose hand it belonged to.

"I really didn't mean what I said." Ron began in an earnest voice, from behind Harry. "Malfoy just – just gets me so angry you know … and after he said that thing about you and – and about Hermione, I just wanted to wring his bloody pureblooded neck. I really didn't mean to lash out at you."

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Dean and Seamus watching on in interest, and not wanting to cause another scene, he casually shrugged off Ron. 

"I know - I'm okay now," he said softly, even though he knew he wasn't. He didn't think anything could put a stop to what torment he had going on in his troubled little mind. "I just needed to vent too I guess."

He chanced a look at Ron as he said it and saw Ron noticeably relax.

"Good," said Ron, expelling a noisy breath. "You coming to dinner then?"

Harry hesitated slowly as he reached the bathroom door. "I – might just go down to the kitchens. I'm not really that hungry."

"You want me to join you?"

Harry shook his head. "Spend it with Hermione. I'm fine alone." … _because_ _that's_ _all_ _I'll_ _probably_ _end_ _up_ _being_, Harry added silently as he shut the door behind him. He leant against it - his movements that of an old man with far too many burdens placed on his shoulders - and closed his eyes against the lump of loneliness growing suspiciously near his heart.

_Alone._

* * *

Well past midnight, Harry sat on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs casually swinging back and forth over the edge. He was once again alone, a thoughtful expression marring his features as he stared out into the misty darkness. Misty, because of a swirling mist whose tendrils had slowly crept around the castle and its grounds earlier that night.

Even with the mist present though, it was a darker night than usual, colder as well and with only his thin pyjamas on, goosebumps had appeared long ago, covering Harry's body from his arms to his legs.

Ignoring the cold, he sighed resignedly, content to just sit there doing nothing, save for the same blank staring he had been doing in his room before detention. At least then, he could at least try and forget about the flop of a day he'd had. Maybe even imagine a world where he didn't have to have any of these problems; where his parents were still alive, and the war had never happened.

Letting out a snort, Harry thought, _fat chance_. Ever since the Mirror of Erised incident in first year, Harry had been careful not to ever dwell too much into his own fantasies, his own dreams. Even more so since the beginning of his sixth year, when stricken by Sirius's death, he had tried to find the mirror again so he could see Sirius.

Snape had been the one to catch him once during those grieving nights, and had assigned Harry a month's worth of detentions, filled with things that had replaced Harry's reoccurring nightmares of Sirius falling through the veil, to dreaming about disembowling toads and extracting armadillo bile from dead armadillos.

Well, he considered silently, at least the detention that night hadn't been even half as bad. Annoying and tiring yes, but not as bad as everything else that had happened that day.

In actual fact, his detention, to say the least, had been quite unusual. After the expected rebuke from Snape for skipping class, he'd surprisingly only been given the task of finishing the next part of his and Malfoy's potion; the bit he had missed in the lesson.

Even more surprising was the short amount of time it took for Harry to do just that. Malfoy must have taken it upon himself to do the more complicated parts of the potion during the lesson so Harry was left with doing only the simpler and less time consuming parts.

As Harry had cleaned up his work station after only half an hour of detention, Harry had wondered curiously if that was Malfoy's way of apologising for his comment earlier that day. Whatever reason it was for, Harry had been slightly relieved and didn't ponder on it any longer. He hadn't really had enough energy for doing anything but the detention.

However, that's when things had started to get slightly more complicated. Instead of assigning Harry to do more work after he'd finished, or to dismiss him, Snape had asked him to sit down.

Harry had done so hesitantly; it hadn't escaped him how weird Snape had been acting towards him the past few weeks – ever since confiscating the Marauders Map actually.

True, Harry hadn't exactly thought much of the odd looks sent towards him during class, or the totally out of place comments when passing each other by in the hallways or at mealtimes. He'd definitely had other things to occupy his mind – like a certain disillusioned friend.

But sitting there in front of his teacher, the suspicions had returned with a force and Harry had been more than a little apprehensive at facing his menacing Potions Master. 

With reason too. The questions that had followed had been completely random, asking (or rather demanding) everything from his current health and his sleep patterns, to any other subject that anyone would never consider the potions master asking.

Harry had answered guardedly, choosing to steer clear of all topics about whether or not he slept at night. It was none of Snape's business, and Snape had no right to ask those things about him … especially if it was probably just a way to get him into trouble. Like pinning him for sneaking out after curfew or stealing more potions ingredients from Snape's office – he hadn't done the latter at least.

Eventually Snape had desisted, and had dismissed him with something akin to suspicion in his eyes. Again, it had made Harry wonder just what it was he had supposedly done this time. Luckily though, ever since their own ceasefire, Snape had stopped accusing him for every little rule broken at Hogwarts, and was considerably less inclined to confront him on every one of those broken rules unless he had proper, concrete proof (Dumbledore had been a major factor in that last agreement).

As Harry swung his legs and chuckled almost unconsciously. Snape would have to do a lot more than question him to incriminate him on anything … especially his constant walks after curfew. If Snape wanted to get him into trouble, he'd have to bloody well follow him and catch him in the act.

Then it suddenly and irrationally hit him.

Snape _had_ the Marauders Map. He would already know the answers to those questions, would already know that Harry had not been sleeping well and _had_ been meandering around the castle almost every night.

But why hadn't Snape called it on him, Harry asked himself, furrowing a brow. Instead of asking pointless and roundabout questions, why hadn't he just taken more points and assigned a detention?

A particularly cold breeze drifting through the window caused Harry to shiver and he broke out of his thoughts to hug both arms to himself.

It shouldn't matter anyway that his question was left unanswered, Harry thought bitterly. It was happening to Harry more and more lately. What was he going to do with his life? Where was he going to go after graduation? Who was this mysterious, obscured boy accosting him at almost every possible opportunity?

The last was the most irritable.

Harry expelled an annoyed breath before resuming his blank staring into space. He had no desire to ponder on more things to make him miserable. If he had enough patience to occlude his mind, he'd be doing that right now … unfortunately, he was too wound up to do it though, and Snape had always told him he was hopeless at Occlumency when something was on his mind.

Footsteps suddenly sounded behind him, familiar scuffling sort of footsteps interrupting his seclusion. Harry knew instantly who it was, that ever familiar creeping awareness sweeping over Harry even as he heard the movements.

Harry automatically stiffened amongst his place on the window ledge. He was torn between screaming for the boy to not see him like this in this pathetic mood, and pleading for the boy to just stay with him, keep him company.

"M'fraid I'm not in the mood tonight," he spoke aloud, deciding to just tell the truth. He didn't move his head after those words, half-expecting the figure to leave straight away. He was well aware of the fact that he had nothing on offer that night and every other encounter of theirs had been purely physical. Why would the boy want to stay?

Soon enough, he heard the door closing, and Harry slumped back down on the ledge. The disillusioned boy obviously didn't want to stick around after all, just like Harry had thought.

Then he felt something light brush against his shoulder and settle beside him.

Harry's head shot to the invisible person now occupying the space next to him and smiled weakly, not able to show his full gratitude that small action had meant to him.

There was an expectant silence as Harry shifted his gaze back to the window. "Bet you're wondering what I'm doing out here?" he guessed. He looked down at his dangling feet, and added musingly, "It'd be so easy to just jump, wouldn't it?"

There was a shift of fabric and Harry felt a firm grip on his thigh as though to stop him. He laughed, a bit bitterly as he looked down at the indent the invisible hand was making on his pyjama pants. "Don't worry – m'not going to do it. I wouldn't waste the life my parents gave theirs so readily for."

The grip didn't lessen, but another arm was placed around his shoulders in a reassuring manner. Harry leant into the embrace gratefully, craving the touch, and his head fitted neatly under an invisible chin. He felt the other boy swallow and was oddly touched by this strange intimacy, wanting even to trace the chin that so snugly fitted above his head, if only to prove that this other boy was real.

Harry forced back the urge, and after a while, he began to talk again, the invisible force giving him renewed strength. "I came out here because I'd like to think that there were bigger things in life than having to worry about what I was going to do after I graduate." he started, deciding to tell only half the truth. He waved an arm towards the sky. "Unfortunately that little outlook hasn't helped any and I'm still stuck –"

He broke off furiously, unable to find the right words. "Sorry," he apologised trying and failing miserably to attempt a grin. "I'm not really used to – talking about my feelings to anyone else. I – I wouldn't know where to start really."

Almost immediately, he was given another reassuring squeeze, and for a reason Harry couldn't quite comprehend, the words all came rushing to his head, and he found himself pouring out everything; his fears for his future after graduating, that his friends were already moving on with their life without him, that he would never find love.

I just – I don't know what to do." Harry confessed at one time. "I just feel like I've outlived my purpose." he said mournfully. "Voldemort's dead. The war is over and everyone is moving on.

"Everyone that is - except me. As much as I try and fight it, this whole thing with Voldemort has been my life, so there's nothing to move onto. I can't go back to the way things used to be like Ron and Hermione. There's nothing there, except the Dursleys, who already told me they never want to see me again." Harry stopped as he remembered the last ever encounter with his muggle relatives.

They hadn't only told him they never wanted to see him again. Despite the fact Harry had been old enough to legally use magic by the end of the summer, Uncle Vernon had done everything short of kicking him out of their lives – well no, actually he _had_ kicked him out of the car at Kings Cross station, as well as threatened to sic the police on him if he ever showed up at their doorstep again.

Harry scowled and another light squeeze on his shoulder reminded him of the fact that he wasn't alone. "Not that I'd willingly want to anyway." he added darkly. "I can't stand the stupid muggles. People would laugh if they knew all those stupid rumours were actually true." he sighed, shaking his head. "How they'd laugh even more if they knew that there's nowhere else to go for me."

"You'd think that the," Harry's voice adopted a sarcastic pitch for the next couple of words, "_Boy-who-lived_ would have no problem with finding a job after Hogwarts. Surely, _anybody_ would want to hire the stupid _saviour of the world_. Surely the ever powerful slayer of Dark Lord's could easily choose a job to satisfy his needs."

Harry shook his head again. "What a load of crock," he said, unable to disguise the bitterness present in his tone. "I'm the only one who doesn't have anything lined up after graduating."

He began to tick off his fingers on his right hand. One. "Ron's going to be a curse breaker with his brother. He's always been good with strategising and figuring out other people's plans. It'd be good for him." Two. "As for Hermione, she's going to be furthering S.P.E.W and at the same time doing some sort of an arithmancy job at Diagon Alley."

Three, and then his hand was thrown in the air. "Even Neville's going to be doing something straight into the upcoming summer." Harry exclaimed. "He's been signed on as an apprentice for Professor Sprout, so he can replace her as the Hogwarts Herbology professor when she retires in a couple of years time."

"Out of them all, I'd have to say I envy Neville the most. Being able to stay at Hogwarts. Hogwarts has been my home for the past seven years. I don't want to leave it -but in four months I will have to. Go out into the real world, find a place to live, find a job. It just seems so impossible to me right now."

The words hung in the air for a moment and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of why it was so impossible. Suddenly though, it seemed ridiculous to keep that in too; he'd already told the other boy everything else.

"And you know what - I hate being called the world's bloody saviour." Harry burst out vehemently, making the other boy start slightly. "I'm not - their saviour that is. I wasn't the only one who fought in that final battle. I'm just the lucky one because I lived yet again, but so many other people did more than me and some of them are no longer here.

"I mean sure I killed Voldemort. But without Dumbledore or Snape or even Malfoy-" the figure gave an involuntary jerk and Harry stopped abruptly. "Oh yeah – you're probably wondering why I said Malfoy, especially since it's a well known fact he remained," Harry gave a roll of the eyes, "neutral."

"The thing is, though nobody's come straight out and told me, I've come to the conclusion that Malfoy was the one to have warned Dumbledore about the final attack. I don't know why he would want to; the only thing that came out of it was me living again, and its another well known fact he'd rather me dead."

Harry sighed in frustration. "But every time I think I've figured him out, all it takes is one conversation with him and I'm back to square one. Loathing him and as Ron says, 'Wanting to shove that sly smirk down his throat'."

Harry shifted slightly, realising he was probably boring the other boy. "Sorry," he apologised again, a bit sheepishly. "Bet you don't want to hear me rambling on about Malfoy and the stupid war."

Invisible fingers made to thread reassuringly through Harry's as he paused yet again, but the stiffness in his knuckles made Harry twitch in pain and he pulled his hand back abruptly with a low hiss.

For what had to be the third or fourth time, Harry apologised and hung his head down to look at the hand now lying in his lap. He'd forgotten about his injured hand until then, for some reason even forgetting about it during the detention.

The invisible fingers followed his gaze, gently moving to pluck his left wrist out of his lap, and move it up into the lightest part of the room.

Even without the proper lighting, the purple and blue bruising on Harry's swollen knuckles was easily noticeable, and the invisible hand gave his hand a squeeze as if to say 'how'd it happen?'.

"'Tis nothing." Harry mumbled, trying to pull away again. The other boy still wouldn't allow it; that familiar steely grip refusing to let go.

Harry sighed, relaxing his hand in the other boy's grip.

"It was just a little mishap this afternoon," he relented, looking at his suspended hand. It looked altogether strange. "Well you know how I was talking about Malfoy before?" He waited for an invisible nod before continuing on. "Yeah well, today him and Ron were at it again and I tried to stop them. I mean – they were both saying such harsh things to each other. I know that's what we all used to do to each other before the war and everything, but now with the war …" Harry trailed off thoughtfully.

"It's just I felt bad for both." He confessed eventually, glad to be finally able to just let it out. "Ron's suffered so much in his life with the wealth of his family and all that. It's - always struck him so much, what with being the last boy in the family. He's always been given the hand me downs and everything he's done he's felt has already been done by his brothers."

Harry took a deep breath to gain the courage for his next words. "Then there's Malfoy. Unlike what Ron says, I think what Malfoy did by staying neutral _was_ quite brave of him. Even if he hadn't been the one to inform us about the final battle, it still would have been just as hard for him to turn to the light side as it was to stay neutral. I mean, he had to stand and watch as his father was killed and his mother was placed in Azkaban."

"Ron and I never had to worry about which side to fight for. What with the prophecy, I never even doubted my alliances. But Malfoy had to have, otherwise why would he have backed away from becoming a death eater?" The question lingered in the hollow tower, and Harry realised he'd once again been venting about his supposed arch nemesis.

"I'm hopeless, aren't I?" Harry finished with a crooked smile. "This must not be very interesting for you, listening to me talk about Malfoy all the time. I bet you must be pretty bored-"

He stopped mid-sentence, shocked, when his hand was lifted higher and the feeling of invisible lips was tenderly pressed to the back of it. Then, if that wasn't enough, a wet tongue was added to the fray, beginning to slowly trace up and down over each and every bruised knuckle. Harry held back a moan and couldn't help closing his eyes against the assault of it all.

When the invisible mouth did finally draw back, Harry, amidst his haze of pleasure, distantly heard a low spell spill from the other boy's lips. Almost immediately a cold, tingling sensation ran over his entire hand, and as reopened his eyes to look down at his newly healed hand in wonder, it took another few seconds to realise, with a startling intensity, that the other boy had spoken.

At first Harry thought he had imagined the low, sultry voice, but then it sounded again, filled with what seemed to be … amusement? "No Harry, I could never be bored."

A smile touched Harry's lips almost self-consciously, wondering – even as he found himself seeking out his healed hand to where the other boy was sitting – at the identity of that unfamiliar, yet so enchanting voice.

A barely stifled gasp came from the other boy as Harry's hand met something warm and soft, and as his fingers investigated he realised he had grabbed at the boy's upper thigh. Cheeks flushing slightly, he went to remove it, but suddenly, invisible hands were at his shoulders, pulling him closer until Harry was very aware of the side of his left leg brushing intimately against another – admittedly invisible – one.

The forgotten hand was left pressed against the thigh.

As Harry moved his head to look towards where the boy was obviously seated, eyes flicking around the empty space, the softest and briefest of touches was felt against his lips. He did nothing to stop the touch, even leaning in closer until he felt that light touch again. After a few moments though, the touch moved away and Harry felt strangely bereft.

"Safeword is stop, Harry," the voice whispered seductively into Harry's ear and Harry was grateful that the other boy wanted to warn him, wanted to keep him from feeling rushed or forced. Harry wasn't sure he wanted the other boy to do that anymore, however.

"Wha-" Harry gasped, his voice failing as the other boy then took hold of the lobe of his ear and drew it into a hot, wet mouth. It was a lucky thing he was still sitting; his knees were shaking in that ever familiar way. He was sure to have fallen off the ledge otherwise. Swallowing heavily, Harry tried to speak again. "What if I don't want you to?"

It had been spoken very quietly, voice quite breathless, but he was immediately rewarded with a bruising kiss as the figure wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled him in even closer, twisting him around until their whole bodies met face on and Harry's legs were both on the opposite side of the window ledge.

This time, the feeling of their bodies next to one another sent electric shivers down Harry's body and his arms automatically went around where he guessed to be the camouflaged neck.

"Then I won't stop." The voice spoke in a soft undertone - so that Harry still couldn't quite recognise it - but the meaning was clear. Harry didn't have enough time to ponder again on who it could be before their lips met again.

Harry relaxed into the kiss, allowing the other boy to have full control over him; tasting, probing, claiming. As the kiss deepened with a fierce and passionate force, he distantly felt the hands leaving the sanctity of his waist, and then moments later his glasses being carefully removed from his face and placed somewhere on the ground. The invisible hands wasted no time in returning to cup at his chin, stroking lightly over Harry's jaw and cheeks. Harry's eyes flew shut once more as he lost himself in the moment.

Seconds, minutes or even hours passed as Harry leaned into the addictive kisses. He craved every little source of contact being given. The hand that moved to run through his hair, the other snugly wrapped back around his waist, and of course the lips that paid homage to every part of Harry's face, and every part of Harry's heart.

When they finally broke off the fervent kisses, still touching noses, an invisible finger was lightly trailed over Harry's left cheek. To his dismay, Harry realised that sometime in-between the talking and the kissing, a tear had fallen.

He went to turn away in embarrassment - he'd never let anyone see him cry before – but a hand grabbed at his chin and guided it to face forward once more.

"It's all right now," the other boy reassured him softly, and Harry felt his tear being kissed away. Harry closed his eyes at the touch then without any warning, he found himself being crushed into an invisible chest as he was hugged tightly. After a few moments of silence, the other boy quietly continued over Harry's head. "It's going to be all right. I'm here for you."

The tears he had been holding back for so long began to trail down Harry's face, and he clung desperately to the other boy, his face burying into the chest as though he could stop the misery and anguish threatening to overcome him. A hand stroked at his back gently and he found himself losing the battle, choking back fresh sobs at the unknown but welcome touch.

"It's okay to let it out."

When the voice spoke those words, in such a tender, soft tone, Harry's sobs were no longer restrained, and all the walls he'd carefully constructed around his heart collapsed against the crushing pressure.

He cried and cried, tears flowing freely down his face in a never-ending torrent. His throat became obstructed, his nose stuffy. Even squeezing his eyes shut did nothing to sway the tears. They continued to leak out from under swollen and puffy lids, falling onto the invisible but sturdy chest and soaking the other boy's invisible clothing.

And throughout it all, he kept two clenched fists on the other boy's robe as he hung on urgently, never wanting to let go for fear of losing yet another thing from his life.

Harry didn't know how long he and his invisible shadow remained in that position, those arms unwaveringly holding him, supporting him as he poured out everything, but he was thankful for it all. It had been so long since someone had held him like this, letting him indulge in something purely for his own benefit. The last time that was so similar to this had been Molly back in fourth year, when she had held him like his mother would have were she alive.

Except this time, Harry knew it was drastically different, because this time it was like a lover holding another and it was nothing like Harry had ever experienced before.

The other boy said nothing else through Harry's torment, continuing his support with actions rather than words. Harry felt kisses placed on his hair, hands gently caressing his back, his neck.

For the first time, he felt truly loved.

When the wracking sobs did finally cease, and his tears dried up, exhaustion hit and he felt completely devoid of all emotion. An eerie, but welcome numbness had replaced the pain and anguish previously residing in his heart, and in that aftermath, he left his head on the other's camouflaged chest and his eyes fluttered close one last time.

He just needed to close his eyes for a minute … he'd get up soon … soon …

* * *

When Harry next reopened his eyes, his bleary, half-opened eyes were faced with an image of the blinding sun. Scrunching up his eyes immediately with yellow spots dancing crazily underneath his lids, he furrowed deeper in his blankets and turned in his bed.

Only to find he wasn't in his bed – and that wasn't a blanket!

Harry sat up with a jolt and the blanketing warmth covering him fell back to the ground as he took an alarmed albeit blurry look around the room.

The Astronomy Tower? He was in the Astronomy Tower? Confusion struck as he continued to stare dumbly around the room until his eyes latched onto the object that had kept him so warm. A robe.

Now frowning, his hand instinctively fumbled beside his thigh, searching, and after a moment, his hand struck success; a neatly folded pair of glasses now lay within his grips. He quickly placed them back on his face, and as he did so, the world once again came into perspective … not to mention the night's events.

Mouth dropping open, Harry realised with surmounting horror what had occurred the night before. He'd fallen asleep! He'd only meant to close his eyes for a moment, but no matter how unintentional it was, he had fallen asleep! Even used the other boy as a makeshift pillow!

Harry wondered embarrassingly how long that other boy had sat with him until he had realised Harry had drifted off to sleep … unless …

Again, Harry reached out a questing hand beside him, this time seeking the disillusioned figure. Unfortunately, his hand only met cold ground. Disappointed, Harry gave the room one last sweeping gaze to confirm that he really was alone.

He was.

Obviously, the other boy hadn't remained with Harry throughout the night. He must have left as soon as Harry had dropped off to sleep.

If Harry hadn't remembered with clear clarity on all that had happened the night before, Harry might have thought the whole night had been one big dream … or nightmare, whichever way Harry might want to look at it. Nothing remained in the Astronomy Tower to indicate that the disillusioned boy had been present with him at any time. Nothing at all. Just him and his pathetic little problems.

He dropped his head in the palms of his hands, flushing with mortification. After everything that had happened, he had fallen asleep on top of it all. What if the other boy thought he was weak for breaking down like that?

Shivering, Harry hauled the robe resting in his lap around his shoulders. It was a chilly morning, and Harry's goosebumps had reappeared underneath his skimpy pyjamas. Lucky he had a thick, warm robe on hand.

Robe? - _Wait_ _a minute_!

Harry's eyes lit up as he backtracked a moment, and his hands moved to clutch at the object now lying across his shoulders.

The robe! Of course, how could he so incredibly stupid? There was evidence that his mysterious friend had been up at the tower with him last night, after all. The robe!

Harry hadn't gone up to the Astronomy Tower the night before in anything but his pyjamas, so the robe certainly did not belong to him. Therefore, that meant it could only belong to his mysterious friend.

In quivering excitement at the chance to finally find out the identity of his disillusioned friend, Harry ignored the chill to hastily shake the robe off his shoulders and look for any signs or clues of ownership.

A few minutes later though, it proved fruitless and the cloak dropped helplessly back in his lap. He sighed his disappointment. It had just been a dead-end after all. A normal Hogwarts robe, no house emblems, and no unusual or specific tags as Harry had hoped. The only clue he was given was the size the other boy seemed to be, and that was a bit larger than Harry. Not that _that_ was saying much; Harry was by far the shortest boy in his year surpassing even Neville in that regards.

Harry associated that particular problem to his relatives. Surely being in such a small, cramped place (ie; a certain cupboard), and being starved for so long would have influenced his small, rather runty stature.

Harry sighed again; he was going way off topic. What he should be doing right now is figuring out who this disillusioned boy could possibly be. After what had happened last night, Harry thought he ought to have the right to know now.

Harry thought more about the boy. One thing was for sure, he was definitely covering his tracks exceedingly well. If Harry had been in the same situation, he didn't know if he would have thought of leaving an ambiguous cloak. Surely, his Gryffindor righteousness would have first given up the robe, then questioned the action later on. Kind of like the muggle version of shoot now, ask questions later.

Of course, he would never have considered using the Disillusionment charm to meet up with the person they liked.

_But_ _was_ _that_ _it_, Harry asked himself. _Does this boy actually like me? _

Surely after last night it shows the other boy must. Why else would he have stayed to listen to him rant and rave – and who could forget crying like there was no tomorrow.

Shifting slightly to appease his numbing body, he bit his lip and shifted his mind elsewhere. Though Harry might not have thought of it, this other boy's obvious intelligence could inevitably help him in his search. Leaving no tracks meant that this boy was no fool, and adding to the fact that he could easily perform a NEWT based charm that hadn't even been taught yet – due to the war postponing many school based lessons – he had to be within the top students at Hogwarts.

"Gah!" Harry yelled exasperatedly, banging a fist onto the unforgiving floor. This was hopeless. Going through the entire student population of the seventh year – if he was even a seventh year – was utterly hopeless. He had no time to watch every single boy – and it's not as though he could even watch any possible suspects to discover if they were the one anyway. The only thing he knew about this other boy was that he was smart, taller than Harry – oh and a great kisser. Like the last one would go well in an interrogation.

He scoffed again, and raised his hand to push a stray lock of hair out of his eye. Only when his hand was lowered again did Harry realise it had been the very same hand he had injured the day before …

… except now it was free from pain and completely healed.

If there was any doubt that he'd dreamt the whole night left in his mind, then there certainly wasn't now. Harry looked down at the newly healed skin over his knuckles in wonder, remembering vividly how it had felt when that other boy had gently kissed his way over every sore and bruised knuckle. His fingers almost self-consciously followed that same trail, causing a familiar tingling sensation through his hand.

What was that healing spell the other boy had used? Harry furrowed a brow in thought as he tried to remember that whispered spell. _Sanos – _was it? Or something of the sort? Whatever it was, Harry had never heard of it before. Probably not, though that was unsurprising because even though Harry was the Head Boy, extra curriculum study just didn't do it for him. He'd had enough work on his hands having to kill Voldemort.

A sudden prickliness in his eyes had Harry rubbing at them, and he winced at how swollen – and probably bloodshot – they were now. He couldn't believe he had actually let down his defences like that and just … cried. Harry had never broken down like that before, never allowed anyone to hear him rant and rave, or see him cry.

But he'd never have thought it, finally being able to talk to someone about everything that had been bothering and haunting him for so long, had been extremely cathartic for Harry. Already, he felt cleansed, refreshed, _unburdened _and there was no longer that heavy feeling around his heart every time he even so much as thought about the war and his future.

It was something he'd been needing to do for a long time … just letting go.

Having someone to unburden himself upon had been needed too. He didn't think he would have let go like that if that other boy hadn't been there to support him.

Shifting again, Harry looked down at his watch to see the time. He gasped in horror. Class was about to start in five minutes! Potions no less! Swearing colourfully, Harry jumped up, and after carefully folding and tucking the robe under his arm, he took off for the Tower.

* * *

**A/N:** This had to be my favourite chapter to write. I'd planned on having this little scene in the story since I first came up with idea, so all the angst and everything Harry was feeling … this was the climax. I didn't want it to seem unbelievable that Harry finally broke down and admitted all his feelings to this disillusioned figure for nothing.

I hope you understand why it took so long. This was the most complicated, by far. It actually would have been a bit longer if I were to include the next part with Harry and Draco - which I had been working on at the same time - but I decided to leave that for the next chapter otherwise this would have been 8,000 words long!

Anyway, I actually have time to reply back to some of my reviews.

So thanks to** Brit, Mon2, Evie Glacier Tako, Ovens=friends, The Wing Master, Celeste Jacobs, Web Walker, Lily and James Potter and Hayla A Canter for leaving a review.**

And an extended thanks to:

**FeliciaHO6:** Yes, I know exactly what you mean, and I'm honoured you think mine doesn't fall into that category too, lol, so thanks!

**Skyler of the Elements: **Well, here's another mention for ya! Thanks for reviewing another chapter and I hope you liked this chapter too!

**Maira:** Lol, how could I want to kill someone who obviously likes my stories? I need all the readers I can get ;), so thank you for all your lovely comments, and I really was flattered by all that you said - doubtful with the whole potential to be inspiration, but flattered nonetheless. I really hope you continue to read and review as I most assuredly will not be leaving this fic at a dead end. As you can see, there's only two chapters left now.

**Midnight Godess:** If you read carefully through the chapters, I do leave a sufficient amount of info on the time between Harry's fifth year and now (over halfway through his seventh year). But basically, if you want the facts, the war happened on new years eve - Harry obviously won, but not without complications and Remus, along with many others was killed. And with Neville, I never said that _he _would fit better in the prophecy, just at times, Harry would have rather that had happened because he wants a simpler life with someone to live with no consequences. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, and I hope you understand better now!

**Goldilocks31890:** I'm flattered that you still want to read this because it's me writing, but nevertheless, I cannot do what you suggested. I have grown to like slash, and whether or not Harry could ever be gay in JKR's books (which I know he won't be), I will not be changing it - so please, I suggest you don't continue to read on. Slash _will_ be prominent the next chapter.

**Jack Robinson:** Thank you! I have been working really hard on exactly how Harry is feeling, but doubts always remain in my mind that it's not really understandable or it's too much or something equally negative, lol. I'm shocking that way. Anyway, glad you like even though it is slash and you're not much of a fan for them. I know I used to be be the same, only strictly reading het fics, but for some unknown reason as you can see, I eventually grew to like them enough to write!!

**Who really cares:** Am doing so at this very moment, so the next chapter will be up in the next few days. I'm really, really sorry for the long wait - I really am trying to finish it.

Okay ... that said, I hope you all like it and as always, comments are much appreciated.

Look out for Chapter Five: _Exposed _in the next couple of days - where we see the disillusioned boy's Slytherin side and something is finally revealed (and if you don't know what that something is, then I suggest you go back and read my story again wink wink)


	5. Exposed

**Title:** Obscurity of Love

**Author:** mony2208

**Rating: **R for this chapter (If you think this is the wrong rating, please feel free to email me or leave a review)

**Warnings: **Slash, some bad words and possible unsettling scenes

**Summary:** Haunted by memories of the war, Harry can't move on with his life. He feels left behind and lacking that one thing his mother saved him with all those years ago … Love. With all his friends already finding love, will Harry allow a mysterious, obscured figure into his life and into his heart? Harry/Draco slash

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**Obscurity of Love**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Exposed _

Ten minutes - and five points from Gryffindor - later, Harry rubbed at a stiffness in his neck as he slid into the seat beside Malfoy, offering a breathless grunt of greeting to his Potions back.

Malfoy nodded back, before fixing Harry with an inscrutable look.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling uncomfortable under Malfoy's scrutiny. He stopped half-way through pulling out his potions textbook, furrowing a brow in confusion, and just the smallest amount of anxiety. Did Malfoy know what had happened the night before? Was there some sort of sign above his head indicating that he had broken down the night before? That he'd cried like a baby?

Cringing at even the thought, Harry averted his eyes and tried to disguise his nervousness by pulling out his textbook and opening it to the required page.

Malfoy's answer was unusually subdued. "Nothing." he replied, making Harry almost sag in relief. "Just wondering how on earth you could possibly get your hair to look even messier than usual?"

Harry just shrugged, running a self-conscious hand through his hair, but Malfoy wasn't finished. "What did you do, spend the whole night in the Astronomy tower with one of your _fans_?"

Harry's head shot up in alarm. _Malfoy couldn't know, could he?_ "Huh – _no_ 'course not!" he denied rather pathetically. "Me go out with someone after curfew? Never." He gave a nervous laugh.

A lip curled in a condescending manner. "Oh no – never would the great Harry Potter go on any sort of secret trysts in the middle of the night." The Slytherin drawled sarcastically. "That would mean breaking a rule and Gryffindors never stray from the law."

Harry ducked his head sheepishly, but he was relieved that Malfoy dropped the other topic. "Well – that's a bit off target, I guess." he admitted ruefully. "But I always had good reason to break those rules."

"And Head Boy no less." Malfoy tutted, though it seemed his heart wasn't quite in it. "Not setting a good example for all those younger students are you?"

Snorting, Harry dropped his gaze to the table. "Hermione gives me the same drivel but you don't see _me_ telling her to stop snogging Ron in every which cupboard – which breaks like a dozen of her precious rules."

"Good _gods_, Potter." Malfoy choked, his knife slipping. He had to bend down to pick it up before continuing on. "Spare me the details of the Weasel and Granger's exploits, will you? It's bad enough seeing your other Gryffindork buddies getting it on in every inch of the castle."

Biting his lip because he knew exactly what the other boy meant, Harry strove to change the subject. "Can I have the powdered Graphorn horn please?" he asked.

Malfoy passed it to him with a slight smirk. "You're really not too interested in what the rest of your House is doing at the moment, are you Potter?" he commented.

"What are they doing?" asked Harry, not really listening as he concentrated on tipping the powder in then stirring ten times in a clock-wise direction. Eight. Nine. Ten. There. Harry stopped with a triumphant smile and realised Malfoy had spoken again. "What?"

"I said," Malfoy spoke exasperatedly, "You seem to be the only one of your house who hasn't paired up with someone else."

"Have I?" His answer was nonplussed, but he was feeling anything but. In fact, his chest was feeling awfully tight at that moment. He swallowed hard. "What about you and the rest of your house?" he managed to ask. "I've seen even Crabbe getting action from Parkinson – but you seem to be suspiciously single as of late.

Which was true, he suddenly realised. There hadn't been _any_ talk on who Malfoy was going out with or even fancied.

Not that he had ever thought of it before of course.

"Nobody from your house catches your eye?" he added curiously.

Malfoy actually laughed at that. "Not all Houses remain involved with just their own _species_. I believe Theodore's with some Ravenclaw – Bones, and Blaise is off entertaining some male Hufflepuff's. Smith I think it is this week." He shrugged. "As for me, my interest also lies … elsewhere."

"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "I didn't know he was …" he trailed off hesitantly.

"Gay?" Malfoy supplied, grey eyes fixing him with an intent expression. "Are you bothered by it?"

"It'd be a bit hypocritical for me to say I was." Harry shot back defensively, then at Malfoy's raised eyebrow, he flushed, realising the implications of his statement.

"Indeed?"

"I don't mean I am," said Harry, hurriedly, "Just that I know people who were – _are_."

Malfoy nodded, and a gleam appeared in his eyes. "So … you're not?"

Harry frowned; Malfoy honestly seemed to want to know and it wasn't as though he would be admitting anything catastrophic. Almost nodding to himself, he plunged ahead. "Well I wouldn't say I was and I wouldn't say I wasn't." he said.

Malfoy was no simpleton; he read between the lines. "Oh," Comprehension dawned on Malfoy's elegant face. "So you don't specifically care either way who their gender is."

Shrugging, Harry looked down at his potions book. "I just figured that love has no gender," his voice came out slightly muffled, feeling embarrassed at what romantic mush he had just disclosed to his former enemy.

"Has a certain ring to it, I must add." Malfoy commented casually, causing both of Harry's eyebrows to raise in astonishment. An infuriating smirk then appeared on the Slytherin's face as he asked, "Was it the Chang girl who decided for you?"

Startled by the question, Harry painfully knocked his elbow onto the table before answering. "Uh – no," he said, his mind automatically bringing up Sirius. "Not really. I just – learnt a few things about the people who - were very close to me."

Realising that he was getting a bit carried away in his memories of Sirius, he added with a wry grin, "Though if I _was_ to take my relationship with Cho to heart, I'd think I'd definitely only be choosing one side."

Malfoy chuckled, not quite smiling, but looking happier nonetheless. It struck Harry how weird this conversation truly was, but surprisingly, he was enjoying it anyway.

"At least you and I agree on that." Malfoy conceded.

Harry chuckled too, almost forgetting about the potion they were brewing because he was surprisingly having fun with the pale Slytherin. Briefly, as he watched Malfoy, he wondered what Malfoy's orientation was.

"No difference between either for me too," answered Malfoy, promptly, and Harry realised with horror that he had wondered aloud. "but I think of it more as you are who you are attracted to."

There was a moment's silence as Harry allowed Malfoy's words to sink in and eventually, he came to the conclusion that their little theories were quite the same, except Malfoy had conveniently left out the word 'love'. He wondered (this time silently) whether this was just something attached to all Slytherins; that they were all wary of committing themselves to someone else without knowing if that someone else felt the same or at least didn't have a hidden agenda.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and flicked his gaze over to Malfoy, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"So Parkinson decided that for you?" Harry joked, throwing back Malfoy's earlier words.

At first there seemed to be a half-smile forming on the other boy's lips, making him look warmer and more friendly, but then a familiar cool look returned to Malfoy's features; his mercury eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a thin, white line. Harry wondered at the sudden change, thinking he had perhaps said or done the wrong thing.

"Malfoy?" he enquired worriedly.

Malfoy stared evenly back, and in his worry, he almost missed the soft tap at his shoulder.

"Harry?"

His eyes reluctantly left Malfoy's face as he turned at the familiar voice to face Hermione, who had somehow managed to sneak over to their desk.

"What's up?" he asked, frowning. The girl in front of him was looking almost displeased at him.

Hermione's eyes focused on something over Harry's shoulder, narrowing slightly before leaning in closer. "Where were you this morning?" she hissed. "Ron said you weren't even in bed when he got up."

"I went for a walk." Harry snapped back waspishly, feeling more than a little bit annoyed that she felt he had to explain himself to her. He didn't see her or Ron there for him like that disillusioned boy was for him the night before.

"We were worried about you." said Hermione, obviously trying to explain.

"Well don-" Harry began to say, but was interrupted by a cool, dry voice.

"If you've finished distracting my partner Granger," the voice drawled, "would you mind shifting off to spout your vast _knowledge_ elsewhere?"

Harry and Hermione simultaneously turned to face Malfoy, who had stopped his own work to lean casually on his stool. Harry still couldn't believe the change that had occurred between the Malfoy he had been talking with earlier and the Malfoy that was now shooting daggers at Hermione. This Malfoy was so cold and so – so Malfoyish. Like the revenge-driven boy Harry had known when Malfoy senior had been sent to Azkaban at the end of fifth year.

"I haven't finished talking with my _friend_, Malfoy," Hermione spat, unimpressed. She too had never buried her grudge for Malfoy, just as he hadn't for her. "A definition I'm sure you're not acquainted with."

"Are you acquainted with the definition of a detention or loss of points?" Malfoy coolly returned. At Hermione's confused look, Malfoy smirked and spoke in a loud, affronted voice. "Stop trying to tamper with our potion, Granger."

As expected, Snape's head shot up like the proverbial arrow, and his black eyes immediately fixed onto the now glaring Head Girl. "Miss Granger," he said silkily, standing up from his desk, so that he looked quite menacing. "may I ask why you think you're above staying in your own workspace?"

"I – I was just getting ingredients." protested Hermione.

"From another student?" Snape enquired nastily. He smirked. "Five points from Gryffindor for disrespecting other students, and a detention for disobeying my _simple_ orders."

Hermione was smart enough not to answer and after a glare at Malfoy, she hastily returned to her sear and sent a searching gaze in Harry's direction.

Harry immediately turned to face Malfoy. "Did you have to do that?" he asked accusingly, still feeling unsettled by what he had just witnessed. "She was just talking to me."

Malfoy sneered, but his eyes softened almost perceptibly. "Sticking her nose into other people's business, you mean."

"How d'you know she even was?"

"She always is." Malfoy spat. "Always has to know _everything_ that's going on."

"Well – we're all like that," Harry defended vehemently, even though he had been thinking the same a few minutes before. "in our own little way. Besides, her knowing everything has helped me in more ways than you could possibly imagine. I probably wouldn't be alive today were she not my best friend. The same goes for Ron." _And maybe you_, Harry added silently, not breaking his look at the other boy.

Malfoy sent him a peculiar look and his mouth opened part-way as if to say something, but he obviously thought better of it, turning back to his work with a shake of his head.

Harry hesitantly did the same for the rest of the lesson, all the while sneaking looks at his partner. He couldn't say what, but something had changed since they'd been partnered up for Potions.

The same something that stopped Malfoy from treating him the same way he had just treated Hermione.

* * *

That afternoon – after classes had finished for the day – Harry declined a game of exploding snap with Ron to take a stroll around the castle. For the first time, _he_ found himself actually wanting to seek out the presence of his disillusioned friend, the one who had unintentionally helped him so much by just being there for him.

As his feet led him to the corridor he had first been approached in, he couldn't help the little part inside of him that doubted if the other boy thought less of him for breaking down the way he had. He'd never done anything like that, and had never been privy to seeing something like that happening to anyone else. How was he to know if he hadn't just been weak or pathetic?

Forcing the doubts away, Harry stopped momentarily as he reached the corridor, looking around expectantly before continuing on. For some reason Harry couldn't comprehend, he just knew the other boy would find him, just like almost every other time Harry had been wondering in the castle, alone and feeling down.

_It was almost like the boy had a copy of the Marauders Map,_ Harry mused, ignoring the pang of loss at the Map now being in Snape's grips. _Knowing exactly where I am and what I'm doing._

He sighed aloud as he rounded a corner, half-expecting an invisible hand to grab at him, or those magical lips to cascade down on his.

But it never happened. Even after visiting all the places the boy had accosted him before – the Room of Requirement, the Quidditch change-rooms where the Slytherins were just starting practice, and lastly the Astronomy Tower, he remained alone. Worry began tearing away inside him when the boy didn't show up after an hour of walking aimlessly around the castle, and all his doubts returned with a vengeance.

What if the other boy didn't want to see him anymore? What if all he wanted was to get something on Harry that would humiliate him?

By the time he had circled around all the places for the second time, and the castle was growing dark, Harry's heart sunk all the way to his feet and he slowly made his way back to the Tower with unwanted tears threatening to spill from his stinging eyes.

* * *

Dinner that night passed in silence for Harry, who was unable to dredge up enough interest or strength to contribute to any of his friends' lively conversations. He hardly noticed the looks of worry that passed between his friends or the slight falter in conversation whenever somebody asked him something and he returned with barely a grunt. His eyes remained permanently fixed on his almost untouched plate of food throughout it all.

When dessert had been finished – or in Harry's case, shifted around until it resembled something not worth mentioning - and Harry heard his friends suggesting some sort of an exploding snap competition after dinner, he couldn't take it any longer, and buried his head in both hands. He felt a headache coming on; a tell-tale throbbing at his temple.

"You coming then, mate?"

Looking up through his hands reluctantly, Harry saw all of his friends had already gotten to their feet and were waiting for him to answer.

"Uh – no," Harry answered slowly, lowering his hands from his face. "You go without me." He indicated towards his dessert showing that he wasn't finished yet.

"That's ok. We'll wait for you to finish eating," said Hermione, already moving to sit back down. The others went to do the same and Harry panicked.

"No." The word escaped out forcefully and they all stopped to look at him in alarm. "I – just have a – a bit of a headache." he said lamely, knowing that it wasn't an entire lie.

Hermione's reply was rather predictable. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey then."

Thankfully, it gave Harry a way out and somehow, he managed to convince the others to go off and play their little tournament whilst he went to go visit Madam Pomfrey … which of course he wouldn't end up doing. He kept well away from the hospital wing if he could help it; his last visit into the sterile room had been just after the war and had been extremely unpleasant.

Unfortunately, his friends were annoyingly perceptive to Harry's inhibitions about the infirmary wing, and though he was successful at getting them to leave him alone, it didn't happen until they had walked him straight to the infirmary doors.

After downing the horrible headache draught Madam Pomfrey supplied him with and quickly declining her offers to stay overnight, Harry's headache was gone but he somehow felt even worse at the possibility he could now think rationally again. The taste too, lingered something dreadful in his mouth – even after casting a breath freshener charm - as he stepped outside the doors.

Getting anywhere further from those doors, however, was what proved to be difficult for Harry, as his way to the Tower was abruptly blocked by something solid and quite warm.

A startled gasp was emitted from Harry's lips at the collision, and for one dizzy, hopeful moment, he almost thought it was his disillusioned friend. Disappointment hit though when he raised his head to lock eyes with a very visible Malfoy, who was quickly shoving something into his pocket.

They looked at each other for an impossibly long moment, before Harry lowered downcast eyes, and mumbling a low apology, stepped away.

Malfoy was fidgeting uncharacteristically and sounded distinctly ruffled when he finally spoke. "What are you doing on the other side of your common room?" he asked. "I thought you had gone off with your friends after dinner?"

Harry frowned slightly. How did Malfoy know where his common room was, and why had he noticed where Harry was? Apprehension and a small amount of suspicion belied his would-be casual tone. "I – uh had a headache."

"You alright now?"

Harry evaded Malfoy's inquisitive stare, it not really registering in his mind that Malfoy was actually asking for his welfare. "Yeah – fine." He shoved both hands into his pockets, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Look, I have to – go. I- I'll talk to you in Potions, kay?"

"See you in Potions then, Potter." The response was cool, typical Malfoy, but Harry almost could have sworn he detected a small note of concern. Shaking that ridiculous thought out of his mind, Harry gave a quick nod to Malfoy, before hurrying off.

Though he wanted to get as far away as possible from the empty corridors that reminded him so much of his and his disillusioned friend's meetings, Harry took the long way back to the Tower, not really wanting to go back and having to face his friends' interrogations yet either.

How could he explain to them that he had been stood up (so to speak) by a boy who he didn't know the identity of, but had anyway allowed to kiss and hold him as he cried out his pathetic little heart out on the night before?

Trailing the fingers of one hand across the cold, stone bricks as he walked, Harry just could not work out why it was always him that got caught up in the most unexplainable, unapproachable situations. Hearing strange voices, possessing Voldemort's snake and consequently Voldemort himself, the content of the prophecy at the end of his fifth year; why did all his problems have to be topics that could not be broached by anyone else other than himself?

That depressing thought had Harry's heart twisting painfully, and lost in the thought, it came as something completely unexpected when a hand suddenly grabbed at his arm as he began to round a corner.

The combination of his shock of the touch and the absent-minded pace he was going had his pace falter and stumble and his face almost spun around to hit the closest wall if it wasn't for the same hand to pull him back abruptly

"Whoah – hold on there."

Too busy trying to right himself again until that moment, Harry's head snapped up at the voice, realising with crystal clarity that there was no sign of the person who had such a supporting grip on his arm.

"You!" he gasped, eyes widening in surprise. Almost immediately, he found himself being backed against the very same wall he'd almost collided with, at the same time also found that he didn't mind in the slightest.

Invisible hands slid up to cup at his face. "Yes," the voice whispered, those invisible fingers caressing his jaw. "me."

A rush of relief and amazement barely washed over Harry before lips demandingly captured his mouth in a spine-tingling kiss that sent Harry's mind reeling.

From all the kisses they'd shared; this one was somehow different. It was almost desperate, but at the same time so, so reassuring and it strove to show Harry exactly how wrong he had been in thinking that this other boy had deserted him.

And it felt so good.

When they broke apart, Harry feeling breathless and light-headed, impatience lined the next soft-spoken words by his disillusioned friend, "I've been waiting for you."

A smile broke out on Harry's face and eyes shining brightly, he replied, "So have I."

"Good," the word was breathed out as their lips met again with a poignant sweetness that quickly escalated into something more. Harry's heart was racing so fast, he couldn't determine if it was that or the kiss that was making him so faint.

Never stopping the kiss, an invisible hand weaved through his hair, whilst the other moved to grip at his hip, pulling him closer so that their bodies were crushed together. Harry would have been amazed at how perfectly their bodies seemed to meet, had he not been distracted by the sudden tenseness of the invisible boy.

Harry's eyes flew open in alarm, the beginning of a protest already shifting to his mouth. However, the words froze as a camouflaged finger was placed on his swollen lips.

"Shh." the voice warned softly, and with his hands still gripping the other boy's shoulders, Harry could feel the faint outline of the body turning to their left.

Harry followed the gaze, confused, but at least coherent enough to now hear a rapidly approaching set of footsteps.

Oh. No.

"Shit." Harry swore, eyes widening in panic. In the haze he was in, nothing was coming to mind at all to how to avoid anyone seeing him. He would be impossible to miss; leaning against a wall, looking altogether debauched.

It would be the scandal of the century – and the media would have a field day. He could see it now in the newspapers, Rita Skeeter's headlines – _Boy saviour debauched to incoherency, pg 2. Boy-who-lived romps with invisible friend, pg 5._

Even as his head turned frantically from side to side to search for any means of escape, Harry resigned himself to the fact that in a matter of seconds he would be discovered.

Alone.

No doubt, the boy would be sneaking off any minute now. There was no reason for the other boy to stick around; he was disillusioned, it would be quite easy for him to escape without consequences. Harry, however was in the open, with no easy option out.

That's what made it all the more surprising when the body never shifted from his and a few moments later, the touch of something hard and smooth was rested atop his head. Harry looked up in bleary confusion to see the very same figure he'd expected to bolt, holding a clearly visible wand to his head.

All was solved when the other figure murmured, "_Disillusiono_."

Like with Moody back before he started fifth year, Harry felt an egg-like crack on his head before an odd sensation started to creep down his body, similar to that of somebody softly trailing cold hands all over his bare skin. Oddly enough, this seemed more erotic than the time Moody had performed it on him and added to the already painful arousal Harry was experiencing, Harry's senses were on overdrive.

His back arched against the wall, momentarily forgetting about the approaching footsteps. A moan grew in his throat, threatening to spill from his lips, but was fortunately cut off by the other boy as he leant forward to kiss Harry again, capturing the sound successfully enough for the footsteps almost upon them not to notice anything.

A few seconds later, the footsteps finally did reach them and as Harry looked through half-lidded eyes, he realised the footsteps belonged to a couple of Ravenclaw sixth years - one being, to Harry's unfortunate luck, Luna Lovegood. Although a close friend, what would happen if she discovered him would be disastrous. All it would take was one comment to her father, and headlines from the Quibbler would be up in no time at all. His mind somehow conjured up another possible headline: _Invisible snorkhap molests Boy-who-lived_, and he instinctively stiffened against the other boy, closing his eyes and just praying to any deity that he and this boy would not be discovered.

During this time, apart from the praying, Harry would have been satisfied to do nothing until they had subsequently passed him and his disillusioned friend by. But his friend clearly thought otherwise.

This time there was nothing he could do to stop the strangled gasp that escaped. His hands automatically rose to clap over his mouth, inwardly kicking himself, but it was too late.

"What was that noise?" exclaimed Luna's friend, stopping in her tracks to look around. They were only mere footsteps away and to Harry's horror, she took an inquiring step even closer in their direction.

Harry froze, and forced the other boy to become very still.

Harry knew that in normal circumstances, where there were no external obstacles, like water or smoke, people's eyes would just look straight through a disillusioned object and see nothing, hence the reason for such a spell to be in existence. It was only in rare cases, such as Harry's, that people were sometimes able to see a faint outline of a disillusioned person, and that was usually only because of their knowledge that there was indeed a person present.

Luckily, as Harry bit a disillusioned lip, that theory seemed to strike true in this instance, and the girl stopped her inquisitive steps towards them. Although Harry could have sworn Luna's larger-than-life eyes lingered in his direction a moment more than was necessary.

But then that thought dissipated as Luna tossed her head back, jingling her bell-like earrings. "It must have been a Dregglepod," she said casually, starting to walk again. She passed them to go down the hallway, her voice grew fainter as she added, "Father told me they like inhabiting hallways with dark lighting."

Luna's friend rolled her eyes at that, but after one more suspicious glance around the hallway where Harry was currently holding his breath at, she thankfully followed after Luna.

After they had gone, Harry let out a long-awaited groan and rested his head on an invisible shoulder. "Finally." he muttered.

His only answer was a low, amused chuckle.

Harry snapped his head up and regardless of the fact the other boy couldn't see him, he glared. "Think it's funny do you?" he snapped, scowling. "You try explaining this situation rationally if it got out."

"Harry," the voice whispered, unperturbed.

"What?" he replied exasperatedly, though he softened somewhat at the tenderness that was carried in the other boy's tone.

There was a sudden jingle in his pants that made him gasp, and with a jolt, he realised he was holding the other boy's wrist in a precarious place.

"Are you going to let go of my wrist Harry?" the voice asked roguishly, never raising his voice above a low murmur. "I have things I'd rather be continuing if you don't mind?"

It seemed his little admirer was quite the exhibitionist.

Harry jerked his own hand away, flushing, and was thankfully aware that when disillusioned, one cannot see any colour other than its surroundings. Still, the voice seemed to know it was present anyway, chuckling again.

Harry murmured a light "Thanks," and lips again clumsily sought out his, eventually finding their target and gently pressing against them for a heart-breaking, earth-shattering moment. Harry had never felt so much love, so much warmth and tender care in one simple kiss.

It was everything he had always wanted.

But all too soon, the other boy drew back and a wand was once again placed on top of his head.

"_Finite Incantantem."_

This time Harry felt a hot sensation run through him and he shimmered back into view. He looked down at his body in amazement before his eyes raised again to look at the space occupied by this other boy.

Suddenly, irrationally, he wanted the same thing to happen to this shadow, and his hand went to where his own wand was situated.

"Please let me see you." Harry whispered urgently, hands itching to take a hold of his wand. "I want to see who you are."

Just like that, the moment was broken, and Harry was painfully aware of the other body moving away.

"Wait!" he cried out desperately, his hands leaving from their position by his wand to clutch out in front of him, reaching for the comfort and warmth of the other boy.

It proved to be utterly useless; both only met air.

He groaned for a second time that afternoon, but this time it was born from utter frustration. Just when he'd been given something he'd wanted for such a long time, it was once again denied from him.

Disconsolately, Harry made his way back up to the Tower; he needed a shower. Maybe it wouldn't just wash away the evidence of this latest encounter … maybe it could wash away this pain and hopelessness he felt as well.

Or maybe it could just wash him away.

* * *

A month later, his school-bag dragging along the ground behind him and looking as though he'd only just climbed out of bed, Harry sleepily trudged into the Charms classroom; only half-noticing that both Hermione and Ron were sending him concerned looks as they walked beside him.

"You okay?" asked Ron as Harry stifled a yawn for what had to be the eighth time that morning.

"Yeah, m'fine." Harry reassured them, giving them a weak smile as he slipped into his seat.

The unconvinced looks that were returned as they too sat down didn't surprise him too much. Admittedly, he had been acting out of sorts lately; his constant tiredness and his occasional, mysterious disappearances. To his friend's knowledge, there shouldn't be any sort of reason for them either. He had been going to bed earlier than usual, so he shouldn't be tired, and he hadn't been disappearing off for a fly or to study for NEWT's, so he shouldn't even be missing for any periods in time.

Or so they thought.

Harry swallowed the momentary feeling of guilt as Hermione tutted at him, and he turned to Ron with exaggerated exasperation. "Really. I'm fine." he enunciated slowly, "Just a bit tired from all that Quidditch."

The game against Ravenclaw had been played just that weekend, so Harry wasn't lying when he said it. If not for the sneaking out during the after party to seek a reprieve and then later being found by his mysterious disillusioned friend, Harry would have been tired from all the celebrations anyway. It just wasn't the entire truth.

Nevertheless, Ron didn't know that, and he visibly brightened at the mention of their spectacular win; a grin appearing on his freckled face. "Yeah – that was wild." he said, eyes glazing over. "Spending the whole weekend celebrating the Cup. Nothing better."

Seeing Ron openly staring at his girlfriend as he said this no longer bothered Harry as much as it used to, because he too could now relate. With a grin of his own, Harry was reminded of the night before when he had come back from that encounter with his disillusioned friend, and caught his two best friends making out in the common room after they had successfully shooed everybody else to bed.

Harry cheekily leant closer to the love-struck boy to whisper softly, "As opposed to obsessing over girls though of course … or more specifically, a certain bushy-haired girl that you can't seem to take your eyes – or hands off?"

The tips of Ron's ears quickly turned red from embarrassment - no doubt remembering the embarrassment of the previous night – and he quickly lowered his eyes to study the blank parchment of notes he had in front of him

Harry snickered at his friend's antics, feeling a bit more lively, then watched as Flitwick came strolling into the classroom with a pile of books in his hands that towered over his head. Harry noticed a few Slytherins sniggering under the breaths as the Charms Professor passed them by and at the distraction, he gave a quick nod of greeting to Malfoy, who had raised an eyebrow at him.

Their Potions project had finally been completed the week before, their partnership all but over. However, with their conversations steadily growing less insulting and more companionable over the weeks that had passed when they _had_ been paired together, - such as the conversation the two had shared on their orientations - they'd actually come to know each other more and more. In fact, Harry could even say that the two had now become … friends of a sort.

Lips curling slightly at the amused thought of him and Malfoy being friends, Harry willed himself to pay attention to Professor Flitwick, who had just levitated himself onto all those books; his customary place. When Flitwick began to explain what they'd be learning that lesson though, he couldn't help tuning back out straight away. The thought of more work to study with only a few months of school to go left Harry feeling more than overworked.

As it was, he couldn't concentrate for too long before his mind was always brought back to the disillusioned boy.

Harry rested his elbow on the table and lowered his chin to rest in his hand. After that almost disastrous meeting in the hallway, their future meetings had ended in pretty much the same way. A whole month had passed and even though their time together was positively heavenly for Harry – including that little congratulatory encounter during the after party – whenever he would even approach the idea of revealing the other boy's identity, their little meetings would be obsolete; finished within a span of a second.

Each left Harry feeling more alone than the last, because as much as he tried to deny it, he was slowly, but surely falling in love with this mysterious boy.

How could he not be, he asked himself. During the time that this boy and him had been meeting together, this disillusioned boy was the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him real. Whenever, he was feeling alone because all his friends were off together, the boy was there. Whenever, Harry needed someone to listen to him pour out all his troubles and frustrations, the boy was there. And whenever Harry just wanted to be held …

… the boy was there.

Harry snuck another look at his two best friends; Ron still staring into a space suspiciously close to Hermione. He'd never thought love could be so complicated, but it apparently was. How could Ron and Hermione stand all these feelings running through them? Everything seemed dull and incomparable to what he was experiencing every time he even so much as thought about the other boy, yet he found himself not wanting to think of anything but.

Flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips, Harry pushed the thought away and tuned back into Flitwick's lecture, who was more than half-way through by now; animatedly waving his arms around atop his stack of books.

"… used by many aurors for Concealing and Disguising, it's quite a difficult charm to master. Though we will be trying it today, I would not be surprised if none of you can successfully work it-" Harry could see Hermione already straightening up at that and wondered what charm it was that was so complicated. He quickly snuck a look at Hermione's notes, and both eyes almost popped out of his head at the heading.

The Disillusionment charm!

Aware that his jaw had dropped open, Harry continued to stare incredulously at Hermione's notes until she threw him a dirty look and covered them up. He shrugged a bit sheepishly as he looked down at his own blank parchment, but couldn't help secretly feeling smug that he already knew all there was to know about the Disillusionment charm.

It was convenient to say at that point, Harry hadn't _just_ been meeting up with the other boy for the month that had passed; there'd always be the investigative – or stubborn - streak in him that insisted he try and get to the bottom of things. In this case, he had taken out all available books about Disillusionment charms from the library, studying exactly what disillusioning one self – and another – entailed.

It hadn't _exactly_ helped him find out who this other boy was; he still remained pretty clueless, but at least he knew the 101 facts to know about the Disillusionment charm. Hermione'd be proud; he'd probably beat even her if that sort of quiz ever popped up in the NEWT's.

Ron nudged Harry out of his thoughts, "Go with you?" he asked, and after a moment's confusion, Harry realised Flitwick had asked the class to pair up.

Harry nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as he remembered the initial, fleeting thought that had popped up after realising what they'd be learning that lesson. Could this class be the chance to find out the eluding identity of his disillusioned figure? His heart was racing at the very thought, and it was extremely hard for Harry not to just go around the classroom and watch every single student try to perform the charm.

"You ready?" he asked instead, standing up abruptly from his seat as Flitwick gave them the go ahead to cast the charm on themselves. His eyes casually flickered over the rest of the class assembling into pairs, but nobody had tried the charm yet. He tried to hide his disappointment; he'd just have to make do with keeping a close eye on everyone until he figured it out. He turned back to Ron, determination flashing in his emerald eyes.

Of the two, it was Ron who decided to go first. Standing just aside his desk, Harry watched on as Ron scrunched his eyes shut and whacked himself on the temple. "_Disillusiono_."

Harry couldn't help himself as the charm took effect; he forgot all about his other plan to find that boy and snorted at the sight that was now Ronald Weasley.

"Well?" Ron prompted, unaware that the only part of his body successfully disillusioned was his two eyes. It looked altogether strange being able to see straight through the two eye slots and Harry was finding it increasingly hard to hold back his mirth. "Did it work?"

Harry cleared his throat in vain. "I -I can definitely say one thing." said Harry, still trying to quell the hysterical laughter welling up in his throat. It wasn't working and he started hiccuping. "N-Nobody will be c-catching you stare at Hermione anymore, that's for sure." And then, Harry could control himself no longer, and he doubled up as he whooped in laughter. Both hands flew up to his face to hide the tears rolling out from the force of his laughs.

"Hey!" Ron sounded offended, and Harry heard him ask an equally hysterical Lavender for the pocket mirror she always carried around.

A few moments later there was an indignant "Hmph," and the sound of more giggles coming from Lavender, and another sounding suspiciously like Hermione, before there was a grumbled, "See if you can do any better, Potter."

Harry removed his hands to look up through his tears, and was faced with a red-faced Ron trying in vain to give him a death glare. From his new position on the floor, Harry laughed even harder and now he clutched his aching ribs. He hadn't laughed like this for a long time.

Well now he definitely knew his mysterious figure wasn't Ron, Harry concluded with another snort. Not that he ever suspected him in the first place.

The laughter finally subsiding, Harry wiped a stray tear from his face and taking pity on Ron, he stood up to help his best friend.

After Ron's eyes had gone back to normal, and Harry had had his own unsuccessful try at the Charm, Harry looked around the room to curiously see if anybody else had been successful at it. To his surprise, nobody in the class was faring much better; Hermione had managed to disillusion her head and shoulders, but that was the furthest anybody had gotten.

And when he looked over to where the Slytherins had grouped up, he noticed that Malfoy wasn't even participating. He was merely leaning against a desk, arms crossed casually, and an amused expression present on his face as he oversaw his friends making absolute fools of themselves.

Feeling something was up he nudged Ron and pointed it out.

"Probably doesn't want to embarrass himself." Ron grumbled, looking a bit disgruntled. He turned away and Harry heard a muttered, "Should have done the same myself."

When Harry had watched almost the whole class attempt the charm unsuccessfully in their little pairs, his anxiety almost killing him, Flitwick called the class back to their tables. Eyeing Malfoy speculatively – who still hadn't bothered to lift his wand to attempt the spell - Harry took his seat. Was Malfoy so bad as to not even attempt the charm? He thought Malfoy was one of the top students in the school, even passing him in some subjects.

"Now class," At Flitwick's voice, Harry shifted his eyes to the small professor. "Do not feel displeased that none of you mastered it on your first try. I did warn you. Would you all like it if I demonstrated it again?"

Malfoy didn't even bother to put up his hand as his smooth voice spoke abruptly. "Excuse me Professor," he drawled. "but I think I'd like to have another try."

"Another try?" Ron snorted to Harry. "He didn't even try it once."

But Flitwick looked pleased. "Yes, yes." Flitwick nodded excitedly, clapping his small hands. "Do go right ahead, Mr Malfoy."

"Watch and learn." Malfoy threw back to Harry as he got up from his seat and swaggered to the front of the class. He looked superior as ever, with a sly, almost secretive smirk on his face.

"Such an arrogant prick," Ron muttered under his breath, giving Malfoy a filthy glare. "He's just putting us on."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, frowning slightly. He felt something was a bit off with the whole situation. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it yet. Still frowning, Harry looked to the front of the class where Malfoy was still standing.

Malfoy coolly quirked his brow, surprisingly locking eyes with Harry. It was almost as though he was waiting for Harry's attention before proceeding, and Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of nervousness in the steely grey eyes.

Again, Harry felt he was missing something important as he met Malfoy's eyes, but he didn't look away. Lifting his chin higher, he narrowed his eyes and matched the look with defiance.

If possible, Malfoy's smirk grew even more and he raised his wand until it pointed towards the top of his head. Harry's eyes lingered on the wand and had the odd feeling that the wand was eerily familiar.

He rolled his eyes, feeling silly. Of _course_ it would be familiar, he scoffed to himself. How many times had it been pointed at him over the years? He shook his head, turning his attention back to Malfoy.

Who, with a sharp rap to his head, stated confidently, "_Disillusiono._"

Amazingly, starting from the top of his head, Malfoy's body slowly, but surely began to match his surroundings. The transformation was perfect; Malfoy's body completely disappearing until only an undistinguished form remained. And even that was only faint.

Everyone gasped in shock at the spectacle in front of them …

None more so than Harry.

Flitwick had said nobody else in their year had yet been able to successfully cast the Disillusionment charm, and Harry had already known that only the seventh years were at the level to perform it. Therefore, if Flitwick was telling the truth and Harry's guesses that the mysterious boy was in his year were correct after all then … then -.

He shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be … it was unthinkable that – that he could be – No. Harry denied vehemently. Regardless of the obvious changes in the other boy, he just couldn't possibly …

… But then again, if Malfoy had been the only one to do it, and he had admittedly been acting weirder towards Harry - with the stares and all, and the almost niceness, and -

_Oh_ _god_. The one time the other boy hadn't shown up was – was during the Slytherin quidditch practice – so then Malfoy – Malfoy must …

"Oh god." whispered Harry, horror-struck. He gripped the edges of his desk, face paling dramatically as he gaped at the place Malfoy had been. "No – it can't be … it just can't."

But however much he tried to deny it, the wrenching feeling in his gut knew it couldn't be anything but the truth.

He continued to gape. _All this time, the boy, the one he'd fallen in love with was Malfoy! He was in love with Draco Malfoy!_

The rest of the class remained oblivious to Harry's horror realisation; the Gryffindors groaning at Malfoy's success, and Malfoy's fellow Slytherins cheering. Nobody seemed to notice Harry's sudden silence. Not even Hermione, who was busy checking her notes to see where she had gone wrong.

Flitwick squealed his happiness. "Well done, Mr Malfoy." He clapped his hands together again. "Well done – ten points to Slytherin."

With a muttered "_finite incantantem_," Malfoy reappeared, looking smugger than ever, and bowed in a self-satisfied manner before returning to his seat. At the last second, his head turned to Harry's and the eyes seemed to soften.

But Harry refused to look in the other boy's direction, instead choosing to lower stinging, humiliated eyes down to the desk. He'd never felt worse than at that moment. Not even the final confrontation with Voldemort came close – Oh. No. Harry slumped even lower as another sledge hammer-like realisation came down on him. He'd told everything to Malfoy – _everything_, and Malfoy had seen his scars and – him cry. _God_ – the things they'd _done_ together over the past months. What if Malfoy had told all his friends? What if he was going to tell everyone now that Harry knew it had been him all along?

"Smug git," Ron growled, not seeming to notice Harry's stricken expression. "Bet you he only knows it to get up to no good."

Harry found himself unable to breathe. _No good indeed, _the little voice in his head said.

It suddenly all became too much for Harry. He just _had_ to get out of the Charms classroom. He felt suffocated, smothered. His breaths were coming in small, short gasps, his hands still gripping the sides of his desk in a death grip that was almost certainly cutting off his circulation.

But worst of all was the feeling in his chest. It was as though somebody had ruthlessly thrust a hand inside and taken such a hold on his heart that there remained only a constant ache, a hollow ache; like the feeling of that very grip gave the impression that there was no longer anything there capable of feeling.

The bell rang all too soon for Harry, and wasting no time, he stood up with a jerk and hurriedly shoved his notes and wand back into his bag. He was completely uncaring of the fact that he was drawing attention to himself with his quick, almost distressful movements; He just had one thought and one thought only. To get out of there – as far away from Malfoy as possible.

So close to his goal, he swung his bag quickly over his shoulder, abruptly turning to leave, but suddenly there was a sound of something shattering on the ground.

"Harry!" he heard Hermione cry out.

Harry spun around, instinctively looking down at the ground to see hundreds of tiny black spotted shards around his feet. His mind slowly catching up, he realised that it was his ink bottle and his bag must have unknowingly caught it and knocked it to the ground as he turned to leave.

Other students from the class had stopped to look at the mess - Flitwick even coming to probably clean it up - but panic again tore at Harry as his eyes caught Malfoy's. Wrenching his gaze away before he could interpret the meaning in the other boy's eyes, he dashed out of the room as though there was a rampaging hippogriff on his heels.

"Harry!" He heard his voice again, this time from Ron, but he didn't look back as he raced to the nearest bathroom, nor did he answer. Both hands had risen to desperately cover his mouth; he felt physically sick.

_What had he done?_

* * *

**A/N:** I feel there's something a bit off with this chapter – I really am convinced to go back over this chapter once I finish the story.

Well anyway, tell me what you think.

Lastly, it will take a bit longer for the last chapter to come – I have to warn you that it will also be considerably shorter. Most probably the amount I had planned for _all _my chapters, but never worked out, lol. So around 5000 words. That's still long though, right?

Ok, as usual, thanks goes to **Mon2, Celeste Jacobs, LunaLovegood61, Brit, Heart and Mind, oracle, Kimi-same, G.O.D. 02, Constance Malfoy, Immortal Memories, Marie Falcon, midnightprowler, Famous angel, violet7amethyst **and** Perrine **for reviewing.

And an extended thanks to:

**dragonsprincess:** No worries, babe. You left one for me now, so I'm happy. Good luck with your computer by the way - I can relate. Sometimes my laptop almost gets thrown through my bedroom window, lol. Anyway, as you can see, Draco didn't give away his identity by his voice ;) It was in a way much, much different. Hope you liked it, and thanks for leaving another review!

**Juniper James:** Lol, thanks. Not only did you friend me on my lj but you reviewed on here and put me on your favourites list! I'm very honoured! And as for updating, well as you can see I haven't given up yet ;)

**Fee:** I'm flattered that you like it so much, but yes, I'm afraid that after this chapter, there will only be one chapter to go. However, I am seriously considering a sequel, so it might not yet end completely ;)

**Jack Robinson:** You were the only person to comment on the conversation with Snape, so good eye there, for one ;). And second, I did at first try and put that part as a real conversation, but I found it gave away a bit much for later chapters. So I left it like that - a subtler way I had hoped. Oh - and about your theory. It's not so much as Snape knows who it is - because I would say that he doesn't - but he does have something to do with the whole debaucle. I'd say you probably know now the reason behind's Snape's behaviour, yes?

Sorry I didn't have as much time to respond to all you reviewers. I really did appreciate each and every one of you that reviewed, but unfortunately, uni is starting back up tomorrow and I need a good night's sleep :D (for once)


	6. Aftermath

**Title:** Obscurity of Love

**Author:** mony2208****

**Rating: **R

**Warnings: **Slash, some bad words and possible unsettling scenes

**Summary:** Haunted by memories of the war, Harry can't seem to move on with his life. But then a mysterious, obscured figure soon manages to do what no other could do; make him feel again. There's just one problem. He doesn't know who it is. Harry/Draco slash

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Forewords: **This is the final chapter for the story and I do hope you all enjoy it! 

* * *

Obscurity of Love

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Aftermath _

Despite his friends' protests, Harry only emerged from the toilets well after they had left and the next class was underway. It was shameful and cowardly, but he couldn't stand the idea of facing them after what he'd just discovered.

He just kept finding himself thinking what would they think about the whole situation? What would they do if they knew how much he'd been keeping from them for the past few months, how much he'd been doing with Malfoy instead?

Not wanting to even _mention_ the word Malfoy, Harry forcibly pushed the thought away, splashing some cold water on his face. His face and hair dripping droplets of water into the sink, he then looked up at his pale reflection in the mirror of the boy's bathroom.

What he saw made him cringe. He hadn't actually been physically sick as he had initially thought, but he still looked absolutely terrible and his gut was roiling in a way that could have aptly been described as actually being in knots.

Wiping his face with a sleeve, and not wanting to see the haunted look that lay beneath the surface of his dulled green eyes, Harry turned and slumped against the sink. Who was he fooling? He couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy. The stupid boy was occupying every space in his currently chaotic mind.

Harry had never thought that finding out about the identity of his disillusioned friend could have unsettled him so much. It was all he had ever wanted; to find the boy who he had been falling in love with and that he had thought up until now, loved him back.

Of course he was aware all along that there would always be the possibilities of _some_ problems when he would eventually discover the identity of the boy. He knew that when he would find out, life wouldn't become any easier. That his illusion of their own little world away from everyone and everything would suddenly come crashing down, and they would have to face the real world and everyone in it.

Still, he thought nothing could have shaken him like this. He could have handled the adjustment to his life, and the complications that would inevitably arise from it. He'd suffered much, much worse in his life.

But this … this he couldn't handle. No matter how hard he tried it all came down to one irreparable thing.

The mysterious boy finally had a face, and that face belonged to no other than Draco Malfoy.

Harry had never in all his reasoning even possibly considered Malfoy as being that disillusioned boy. He'd obviously had his own suspicions of who it could be, suspecting many of the seventh year students he had grown closer to over the years, but Malfoy was not even an option. Sure he had been acting weirder, and they could almost be classified as friends with the way they'd been acting towards one another. But how was Harry to know if that was all truly genuine, or if it was just a way of using him and humiliating him?

For all Harry knew, Malfoy could already be telling everyone how he had successfully won over the great, gullible saviour.

And that wasn't hard to believe, considering the kind of person Malfoy was.

Harry groaned, pushing himself off the sink to wearily stand up. The worst thing for him was that the situation was just so hopeless, and he couldn't do a single thing to fix it. He hated being in situations where he couldn't do anything. He was a Gryffindor; giving up and just waiting for something to happen was unmentionable amongst them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his reflection again, and hated how vulnerable he looked. It was almost pitiable at how Harry had let Malfoy come into his life. After _everything_ he had learnt in the war, he would have thought that by now, he wouldn't be so easily tricked. But he was. How could he have been so stupid as to let Malfoy have any sort of supremacy over him, he asked himself. How could he have let Malfoy break down all his defences?

And how could he have so easily begun to fall in love with him?

He turned away, clenching his fists as he walked out the door and into the hallways. That was the main question, wasn't it? Out of all the questions plaguing him, that was the one that made Harry cringe the most. Regardless that it was Malfoy, he _had_ fallen in love with that disillusioned boy, and that's what made it all the more painful. Maybe if he had known it was Malfoy, he wouldn't have fallen so hard and wouldn't have let this boy become the most important fixture in his life. But he had. He'd been so stupid, and just like Ginny in second year, he had trusted in something or rather _someone_ who would inevitably turn around and bite him back in the ass.

Biting back a laugh that sounded awfully like a sob, Harry forced back his despair and self-loathing long enough to drag himself through the hallways and back to his empty dorm.

The door clicked softly shut behind him as he entered his dorm, and not wanting to think anymore about anything, Harry collapsed, bone-weary, onto his bed, dragging his drawings closed as he went.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the safety of his closed off bed, pretending to doze. Ron came to visit him once, but Harry hadn't given any indication that he was awake, so Ron had quickly disappeared to his next class.

He had sighed with relief after Ron had left, not wanting to leave the safety of his bed for anything. He wasn't stupid; he might have been clueless in some aspects - in particular Malfoy's recent behaviour – but he knew that his dorm and the rest of Gryffindor Tower was the one place Malfoy couldn't get into. It was his safe haven so to speak.

In the time that him and Malfoy had been meeting up, Malfoy had always known where Harry was, but not once had Malfoy stepped foot into the Gryffindor common room to find him. It had always been in public places, places that Harry was sometimes known to occupy.

Rolling onto his side, Harry tried to ignore the small voice inside that was telling him he was taking the easy out, that he was being rather Slytherinesque and cowardly by not going to a place where Malfoy could find him.

He'd rather not admit even to himself how scared he was of what he would find when he went out there.

* * *

By the time the rest of his dorm mates came stumbling up the stairs, Harry had worked himself up into a tizzy. _Had_ Malfoy told everyone what they had been up to together? Did everyone know how screwed up he was, with his scars and insecurities – and how he had been willingly getting it on with someone he hadn't even known the identity of …

Until now, Harry added belatedly, wincing. He really couldn't forget that little bit now, could he?

The sounds of rustling and soft, incredulous laughter filled the room, reminding Harry of his friends' entrance, and he waited nervously, straining his ears to hear the approaching voices.

"… it does sound a bit suss," he heard Seamus say, and Harry's already wired body stiffened even more. What sounds suss?

"But we're talking about _him_?" Dean's voice drifted in through the door, albeit a bit softer, and he sounded reluctant to talk. "Come on, he wouldn't do something like that. The other guy admitted to getting off on it and you know what _he's_ like. He probably initiated the whole thing just to make a fool out of him."

At that, Harry's heart leapt to his throat, his worst fears confirmed, and without thinking, he wrenched open the curtains with force and rose to his knees. "What's he been saying?" he demanded frantically, looking at the two boys standing by Seamus's bed.

Both Seamus and Dean looked taken aback, and Seamus dropped some sort of a magazine he had been holding.

"Harry!" Seamus exclaimed in apparent surprise. "I didn't know you were in here. Where've you been?"

Harry ignored pleasantries and repeated his question. "What has Malfoy been saying about me?"

The two boys shared a look between them before turning to Harry and shrugging.

"What do you mean, Harry?" For some reason, Seamus seemed lost.

Harry frowned. "What you were just talking about –" An ugly feeling formed at the pit of his stomach. Had he just thought horribly wrong?

Comprehension dawned on Dean's face first and his mouth formed an 'o'. He nudged Seamus and pointed down to the magazine on the ground.

Harry followed their gaze uneasily. It couldn't actually be in the papers already, could it?

"Ah," Harry's eyes snapped up to look at Seamus. "Wait - hang on," said Seamus, brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought you didn't go for the Montrose Magpies?"

"I –" Harry stopped. "What?" He wanted to scream, _what's that got to do with anything?_

Dean shot a curious look at Harry before pointing to the magazine on the ground. "Yeah – we were talking about the Magpies Chaser and that fight with the Canon's Keeper. Seamus reckons the Magpies Chaser initiated the whole thing just to get the Canon's Keeper suspended."

"Oh," Now Harry felt stupid. "Sorry – I – I thought you were talking about something else."

"S'alright mate," Seamus dismissed it with a wave, "We're all prone to madness sometimes. You've been due for a while now."

A hollow laugh escaped Harry before he could stop it, and he collapsed back down onto his bed, his whole body feeling as though bludgers had been at it.

His bed tipped slightly as Seamus bounced beside him, coming to settle at the foot of the bed. "Seriously though, what's bothering you?" he asked, Dean too joining them. "You've gotten Hermione wearing a hole into the common room and poor Ronniekins hasn't had a good snog with her all day – and you know _that's_ a record-"

Dean cut off Seamus with an elbow to his side. "What Seamus is trying to say," he said firmly, "is that after your little episode today, we've all been worried. Ron was positive that your scar was aching again."

Out of habit, Harry raised a hand to trace the faint lightning bolt scar on his forehead; the scar that had defined so much of his life.

But not this time.

Lowering his hand, he shook his head. "It's nothing to do with my scar – or the war." he said honestly, eyes shifting to focus on his lap. "It's just – things are a bit … difficult for me at the moment." He shrugged a bit apologetically, aware of how vague he was being.

"It's alright to be a bit frazzled," Dean reassured with a kind smile. "With the NEWT's so close, everybody's been a bit out of sorts." He stopped, then he seemed to think of something amusing, and added, "Even Malfoy's been out of character lately."

Harry's head shot up. "Malfoy?" God, even the name caused Harry's gut to twist uncomfortably.

"Yeah, Hermione says you missed the most enjoyable Potions lesson today," Seamus chimed in, looking gleeful, "Malfoy blew up his cauldron."

The words startled Harry so much that his mouth dropped open. "He blew up his cauldron?" he repeated slowly, disbelieving … or actually …

It struck Harry that perhaps the only reason nobody in his House knew about anything was because of the accident in Potions. Perhaps Malfoy was recovering in the hospital wing at that very moment.

And if that was the case, Harry thought, then maybe it wasn't too late after all. Maybe he could confront Malfoy and threaten him to say nothing. After all, Malfoy had been getting something from the whole mess too. Harry did not forget the time in the hallway, when Luna had almost come upon them, did not forget that Malfoy too had been lost in his own pleasure.

"Where's Malfoy right now?" he asked, interrupting Seamus's lengthy description of the potion landing on Malfoy's clothes, burning through the precious, rare fabric that Malfoy had boasted about back in sixth year.

"He should be out of the hospital wing by now," Dean supplied, looking at the time. "He only burnt his arm a bit but you know how Malfoy is - making a mountain out of a mole-hill."

That was exactly what Harry wanted to hear and he stood up abruptly, determinedly thinking _there was still a chance._ Ignoring Seamus's indignant cries he raced to the door.

"I've got to go – do something," he called over his shoulder, twisting the door handle open and running down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry realised Seamus had been right; Hermione was still pacing up and down the length of the common room, and Ron was sulkily sitting down watching her, fiddling with his packed chess set.

But Harry took only one look at them as he rushed past them, for the second time that day, ignoring their frantic calls as he escaped their grips.

For now, there was something more important he needed to do and already he was running through what he wanted to say to the bastard that had the ability to ruin what life he had left in him.

* * *

Minutes later though, Harry was rudely shooed out of the hospital wing by none other than Madame Pomfrey. "Mr Malfoy has been released," was all she said on the matter before she shut the doors in his face.

Harry stared at the doors for a moment longer - having forgotten how forceful the mediwitch was until that moment – then he scowled as reality sunk in. He'd missed Malfoy. _He was too late. _The other boy could be in the Slytherin dorms at that moment or even in the Great Hall. Dinner was going to start in just a few minutes after all.

Harry couldn't handle it; he didn't have the strength nor the will to walk into the Great Hall, having everyone's eyes on him, sniggering and pointing behind his back. If it was too late, then he was going to embrace his Slytherin side for once and get as far away from everyone as physically possible.

He tore down the hallways, almost at a jog. Breathing heavily, Harry had almost reached the Gryffindor Tower, when he was abruptly pulled into a nearby classroom and kissed fiercely.

Filled with the same rage and burning humiliation that had flowed throughout him all day, Harry pushed the boy away with a rough shove that left even him unbalanced, and glared as though his life depended on it.

"The act's up, _Malfoy_." Harry hissed, voice cold as ice. He lifted a trembling, heavy arm to wipe his mouth on his sleeve; not only to wipe away Malfoy's presence, but the tingling sensation that now felt more like pain than anything else.

In his anger, he felt the other boy balance himself, and after a hurried whisper, the space in front of him shimmered. Slowly, that shimmer faded away and the figure of Malfoy appeared in front of him.

Harry had to lean against the wall in shock, paling dramatically. Even though he had known the truth, it was a completely different thing when he was finally facing it. Seeing Malfoy standing there, looking completely unperturbed at being caught just made all the helplessness and humiliation come rushing back to him.

"Took you long enough, Potter," drawled Malfoy, as if he was merely commenting on the weather. A pale hand reached up to brush a stray lock of un-gelled blonde hair from his face. Harry remembered with a pang when those same hands had run through his own hair with careless abandon. "I thought you'd never figure it out."

Harry saw red; that ever familiar white hot anger licking at his throat, burning it like it was acid. "H- has this whole thing just been a _joke_ to you?" he snarled viciously, the room blurring out of view in his rage. "Some kind of _game_ that you and your Slytherin cronies all laugh about in the dungeons?"

To his embarrassment, his eyes began to sting and he had to wrench his eyes away from the other boy's steely grey eyes to focus beyond Malfoy.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, before his smooth voice responded with, "You seemed to have enjoyed it so far."

The stinging increased and Harry had to turn his back on Malfoy as a tear escaped and left a trail down his pained expression.

"How could you do this?" he asked softly, wiping it away as discretely as possible. He hated how pitiful his voice was sounding, but he couldn't disguise it any more than he could push out that wrenching ache from his chest and pretend that nothing had ever happened. "How could you do this to me?"

"I would think that the purpose of all this has been quite clear." came Malfoy's voice from behind him and Harry spun around before he could think clearly of what he was saying, Malfoy's face blurring even more.

"Yeah, to manipulate me, exploit me. Play with my feelings, m-make me fa-" He tore off as his throat constricted painfully. Even though he had imagined this conversation when he had been walking down the hallways, it was still hard to put words together when he was in so much pain. He just couldn't make his mouth work to speak the words he needed so much to say.

"Do you have any idea of what I-" Harry took a deep, shaky breath, and his voice was barely above a whisper. He was just so emotionally drained. "I told you _everything_. Nobody – not even Ron and Hermione know what you – you now know about me. Do you have any idea how that feels … to know that the very person who I've confided in and – and given so much to … is you?"

Malfoy remained unmoving, merely fixing Harry with an unreadable expression.

Harry started shaking; he couldn't help it. "You – you can't tell anyone." he said pleadingly, remembering the irrational fear he had experienced earlier that evening. "I- I'll do anything you want, just please – d – don't say anything. I couldn't bear it if anyone found – found o-out about – about –" He was panicking, he knew, but he was just so desperate.

Malfoy interrupted him. "Harry," he said.

"_Harry_?" he repeated incredulously, a sob getting choked in his throat. "You think you have the right to call me by my first name? You're the one who has done all this to me. If you hadn't cooked up this whole _ridiculous _scheme, I wouldn't be such a – such a wreck."

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to say something but shut it quickly.

It infuriated Harry. "How can you just stand there?" He took a menacing step forward, looking every inch the powerful wizard he was. "After all you've done, how on earth can you possibly stand there as if you'd done nothing more than a simple harmless prank?"

Harry stopped, suddenly laughing darkly. He was well aware the sound didn't suit him. It was harsh, containing all the pain and loss he felt at that very moment. But he didn't care anymore. "Or is that what you really think all this is?" he continued dangerously. "Something for a good laugh – never caring that this is a life you've been messing around with."

He took another step forward, eyes flashing. "Just tell me for fuck's sake. Is that all it was, Malfoy?" he roared.

"Of course not." replied Malfoy, calmly, finally speaking. He didn't even so much as flinch at Harry's approach. "I just wanted _you_."

Harry's anger was quickly replaced with shock and his feet came to an abrupt halt. Never had he even expected those words to come out of the Slytherin's mouth. "Wha – _what_?"

For the first time, Malfoy seemed to falter and his eyes lowered to focus on two pale, fumbling hands.

"Do you think my friends would be proud that I've been lusting after the Golden Boy?" he replied, not looking up. "Do you think even as a joke they'd be pleased with what I've been doing with you?"

Harry wasn't given the chance to answer before Malfoy persisted on. "This has been going on for almost two months." he said. "Do you think even an elaborate sort of joke would last this long without any repercussions? Have you _heard_ any of my friends taunting you about it in the corridors or in class?"

Harry had to admit he hadn't, so he reluctantly shook his head, the anger dissipating slightly. This wasn't the confrontation he'd been envisioning up in his dorm. Malfoy was acting painfully similar to the disillusioned boy Harry had come to know over the months.

The uncertainty of the whole situation still ate away inside Harry though. "But why?" he asked. "Why – d-did you do it like that? You could have just -approached me … not doing it in such an underhanded, sneaky sort of way."

Malfoy gave a bark of laughter and again a pale hand raked through his hair. Except this time it was no longer its normally impeccable hairstyle.

"Underhanded, sneaky?" he repeated. "You're just describing exactly what my house values most." As Harry went to interrupt, Malfoy raised a hand. "And what do you think would have happened if I _had_ told you that I had these sort of _feelings_ for you? Welcome me with open arms?" Malfoy laughed again, though this one was slightly bitter. "I think not. If you hadn't punched me or hexed me as soon as I even so much as approached you, you probably would have as soon as I tried to explain what I wanted."

Again, Harry had to concede the point. At one stage, he probably would have acted the way Malfoy had explained. "But we _had_ been getting along better," Harry argued, remembering the past few months. "How am I supposed to believe that you didn't just do that as part of the act? How am I supposed to believe that you truly meant everything that's happened over the past few months?"

"Potter," Malfoy looked almost desperate now. "I meant everything."

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Harry repeated, feeling completely lost. He couldn't tell if Malfoy was being genuine or not. It was just too hard.

"Look," said Malfoy, obviously understanding his confusion. "I haven't told anybody about what's happened between us. Other than you, nobody _knows._ You have to believe me. I swear it. I would _never_ tell anyone what has occurred between us. I never intended to when I began this whole thing and I still don't intend to."

Harry bit worriedly at his bottom lip and decided to drop that particular subject. There was something more important. "So is that all it is?" he had to ask.

"What?" Malfoy looked as if he wasn't expecting Harry to calm down so readily.

"Lust." Harry repeated, looking doubtful. He just had to know. "You said you were - lusting after me. Is that all it is – _has_ been?"

There was a tense-filled moment as Harry's words fully impacted the other boy in the room and Harry waited with ill-concealed anxiety.

"Would I have spent half the night listening to you pouring your heart out if it was?" Malfoy replied sardonically and Harry let out the breath he only belatedly realised he had been holding.

"That doesn't really answer my question," Harry pointed out, but relief flooded him.

Malfoy continued with a sigh, "At first it was," he admitted grudgingly. "I intended to have my way with you, no holds barred. I didn't care if I got it from you willingly, or unwillingly. I just wanted to get it all out of my system," he shrugged his shoulders slightly, "and without you even knowing that it was me – well that idea was even better.

"But that first night, when you told me - to stop – I – I just couldn't do it. I wanted you to be ready too. So I waited. Every time you uttered the word 'stop', I would do just that, so you would know I wouldn't do anything against your will."

Harry nodded in understanding. He had been right then.

"Then – that night in the tower … listening to you pour your heart out to me – I – I realised that the lust that threatened to initially control me was - just one part of the love I have for you." Draco finished, faltering slightly at the last statement, but still maintaining a stoic expression.

"You – you _love _me?" Harry said, astonished, unable to do the same. His heart gave a jump even at the mere mention of the word, awash with so many emotions; incredulity, doubt, and not just a small amount of shock. Nobody had ever been brazen enough to say that to him. Not even his friends, though he was well aware they did in their own way.

And hadn't Malfoy been the one not to specifically say the word 'love' when they were talking about their orientation anyway?

"Don't act so surprised, Potter." said Draco, a bit peevishly, mistaking Harry's shock as something else. He stiffened up defiantly "I am capable of loving."

"I – I never meant it that way." apologised Harry and he watched as Draco relaxed slightly. He took a shaky breath. "I just – _me_? Why would you fall in love with me, of all people?" _How could you fall in love with me_, Harry added silently.

"You've always been a constant in my life." Draco answered promptly, as though he'd rehearsed this a dozen times. "Though it was hatred that was directed towards you for the better half of six or so years, it did eventually change into something completely different. It was about the end of last year that I think I really started to notice you … and then as I said before, I think I realised what it was I truly felt towards you when you started talking about me that night in the Astronomy Tower.

Draco took a step closer and his face softened considerably. "You were right by the way - everything you had guessed about me was the truth. I _was_ the one who warned Dumbledore. I had been sent a coded letter from my father, who still occasionally kept in touch with me, telling me about the final battle and warning me to keep out of it.

"But for some reason that I couldn't yet comprehend, I didn't _want_ to stay out of it. I thought of you being unprepared against You-know-who, and I – I just had to tell someone. So I went to Snape and then Snape went to Dumbledore. Nobody else knows."

"Thank you." Harry breathed, amazed. Everything hadn't been a farce, Draco – not Malfoy – truly did mean what he had said and done. He loved him and had even risked his life for him. "It's because of you I'm here today."

"Don't," Draco said simply but firmly. "That's not true. You were the one who had to stand up to him in the end. You were the one who killed him – the most powerful dark lord ever in existence. Despite the comments to you in class, I do think you are the true saviour. You always have been."

Harry shook his head. "No – I haven't."

"Yes you have. My god Potter," Draco burst out exasperatedly, making Harry jump. "We have _never_ been friends but that day in the hallway - _you didn't take the Weasel's side_. Even after that stupid comment I made about you … and then – then that night, you even admitted that I had had a hard life, and I couldn't believe how well you understood me."

His voice was lowered as he said thickly, "With everything I've done to you over the years, I had never imagined you would say that about me."

Looking at Draco, whose eyes were downcast and hands were twisted nervously, Harry allowed a slow smile to grace his lips as entirely wondrous feelings filled that previous ache in his chest; most of all relief and contentedness.

It gave Harry the strength to speak up again. "With everything I've done _back_ to you over the years, I had never imagined you would go under the Disillusionment charm just to snog with me." he said, his voice as overcome with emotion as Draco's had been.

Harry saw Draco practically sag with relief, and then that same expression Harry had seen in their first Potions lesson together as partners, reappeared on his face.

"I did know how to do perform the Charm before I got the rather ingenious idea." Draco boasted, regaining his earlier arrogance and puffing up his chest. "Something that could finally get one over Granger and also to find a way out of the Slytherin common room. Snape's unrelenting with his curfew and he isn't fooled by Invisibility Cloaks." At that, Draco eyed Harry suspiciously before continuing. "To be honest, I never meant to use it to – well for this."

At the mention of Snape, suddenly, for Harry, the final pieces of the puzzle clicked into place; Snape's weird behaviour; asking him about late night endeavours, yet not knowing if he was or not … Draco always knowing where he was …

"But then you saw the Marauder's Map in Snape's office," breathed Harry, "and being the sneaky Slytherin you are, you stole it and used it to accost me whenever I was alone."

Draco's eyes glinted with amusement and he shook his head in amazement. "You really are quite intelligent when you want to be," he said, quirking an eyebrow. "Yes, I was hiding around the corner when Snape confiscated your Map, and I admittedly was curious. I'd heard about the Map before. So I snuck into his office that same night and took it from his office. It took me almost a week to figure out how to use it …" and here Draco trailed off, lifting his head to look at Harry.

Harry sensed there was a "But?"

"Well - though you _are_ intelligent," Draco continued on smugly, taking a step towards Harry. "It's just you're pretty oblivious when things are staring at you right in the face. I've been leaving you hints for _ages_."

Draco slowly drew closer to Harry. He crept closer and closer until his and Harry's chests were almost touching.

"What kind of hints?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Harry could now see Draco's sly smirk close-up, and his eyes lingered there hesitantly before looking up into Draco's eyes. Arms slipped around his waist, drawing him in until he met that familiar hard body, and he raised his own arms around a graceful neck.

"_Entertaining friends up in the Astronomy Tower are you, Potter?"_ Draco drawled sarcastically. "_My interest lies … elsewhere._ I practically handed everything to you in that conversation in Potions."

"Oh," Harry flushed, unable to voice any other coherent words. As it was, he was finding it increasingly distracting at just how close Draco was to him; the other boy's slender arms so intimately wrapped around his waist that they couldn't help but come into contact with each other's bodies.

Draco seemed to be affected by it too. The normally so together boy drew in a shaky breath, and his eyes flew shut for a moment before fixing Harry with such an intense and fiery gaze that had Harry too taking in a shaky breath from the sheer magnitude of it. He could see the desperation and the desire present in that one gaze, the clear arousal as well.

But most of all, he could see the love shining through, and that was all Harry needed.

"Can I kiss you, Harry?" Draco murmured in that familiar tone. The thrill of recognition at the sound of the voice tore through Harry so that this time he couldn't even speak. He merely nodded wordlessly, tilting his head slightly higher as Draco's swiftly dipped down.

For the first time, Harry kept his eyes open as Draco's lips softly met his and tenderly moved together in a way that had Harry's whole body trembling. For the first time, Harry kept his eyes open as the kiss then deepened with a sweetened intensity.

And for the first time, Harry kept his eyes open … because, for the first time, Harry could see just _who_ it was he had fallen so deeply in love with; the pale skin, free of blemishes, the snow-touched lashes covering the most sensual grey eyes Harry'd ever seen, the pink luscious lips that were so lovingly pressed against his. He weaved a hand into the soft blonde locks, knowing for the first time that they were really blonde.

Harry's eyes lingered on the lock of hair he had tangled through his fingers and was convinced that this was finally real, more real than anything he'd ever experienced in his life before. His other arm raised to gently caress the face he'd never seen so up close before and as he lost himself in the moment, his eyes finally fell shut.

Time became meaningless for the two entangled boys; Harry's only conscious thoughts wrapped around the lips and hands that were bestowing him with such love and adoration. Words couldn't express what those actions were showing, and Harry willingly returned those same feelings, wanting Draco to have all that he had.

Only when air became a major factor, did the two slowly pull away from one another, foreheads resting against each other as they regained their breaths. Draco's hot breath ghosted over Harry's tingling lips, and almost sub-consciously, he flicked out his tongue in remembrance of Draco's lips working their magic on him.

Through clouded eyes, Draco looked lazily at Harry, lifting one hand to brush at a stray lock that had fallen into Harry's eyes. The fingers lingered on Harry's cheek, tracing a line down to his jaw, and Harry could feel a hot fiery trail that the touch created, even after Draco's fingers moved away.

He shuddered in Draco's grip, watching as the other boy briefly smirked before pulling their bodies flush together again.

Looking deeply into those eyes and taking note of the raw emotion that was so obviously present, Harry had never been so sure in his life. He pressed his lips to Draco's for a short moment - never breaking that oh so special look shared between them - then pulled back and said the words he too had been longing to say.

"I love you too."

Draco's pale lips curled once more, but this time it went further than that brief smirk Harry had only just witnessed.

The other boy smiled.

A true, unrestrained smile that lit the soft, grey eyes and brought joy to the rest of the aristocratic face. Harry was in awe at the raw beauty of the other boy, even remaining completely still as Draco took a step back, breaking their embrace.

"Then let's go find somewhere more comfortable, _love_." Draco breathed, a predatory spark now dancing across his eyes.

Long, slender fingers entwined with his, and feeling more than a little bit shaky, Harry allowed himself to be led out of the classroom.

* * *

A few days later, Harry was found back in the abandoned classroom, standing determinedly in front of a large mirror he'd conjured up earlier. Every now and again he'd mutter a spell, and part of his body would flicker out of view momentarily before reappearing again.

It was starting to become frustrating for Harry; he'd been trying for hours to successfully perform the charm and he hadn't gotten much further than that momentary flicker.

He grudgingly admired Draco for practising the charm until he mastered it the way he had. It must have been extremely difficult. Not to mention time-consuming.

Definitely time-consuming, Harry grumbled inwardly, looking down at his watch. It was almost lunch-time, meaning he'd wasted almost the entire morning in the classroom. Luckily it was only the weekend, and that he had given both Draco and his friends the excuse that he had a meeting with Dumbledore for the rest of the day.

He sighed, being brought back to the present. For a moment he almost contemplated giving up – he could just learn it in their next Charms lesson – but as always, that stubborn, unrelenting streak in him made an appearance and that thought was quickly quashed.

Letting out an irritated huff, Harry raised his wand to the top of his head. But before he spoke the incantation, Harry decided to try a different approach. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the time Moody had performed the charm; the feeling of an egg cracking on his head, it's contents slowly trickling down every inch of his body.

When that didn't seem to work, he then remembered the feeling when Draco had performed the charm on him. _Draco. _Harry repeated the name to himself with a goofy grin, and his wand was lowered slightly as his mind went back to the past few days.

He'd never thought it, but being with Draco was more satisfying than Harry could ever have imagined. After their confrontation where each had confessed their true feelings, the next few days he'd spent almost all his free time with Draco, studying together, mucking around together, and just _being_ together.

Draco was still the same Draco Malfoy Harry had known for seven years, but he was also so unlike the boy who had offered his hand to him seven years ago. The sharp wit was still present, as was the aristocratic pride he seemed to carry with every step.

But Harry could see behind that, even when they would 'accidentally' bump into each other on the way to classes or trade insults in the hallways. He could see how the grey eyes would soften just that little bit whenever they met with his, he could see how - in those times when he, Ron and Hermione crossed Draco's path - Draco always refrained from using insults that would hurt or dredge up painful memories for Harry.

Even more, he could clearly see the same boy who had disillusioned himself to be with the boy that he cared about. The same one who had captured Harry's heart by just being there and loving him in a time where he had felt so alone.

Harry grinned again, knowing that he was the only one who had the lucky fortune of seeing Draco Malfoy the way he did. Otherwise, surely everybody would have fallen hard for the blonde boy by now.

_Well_, Harry corrected himself slyly, _not exactly everybody_. He doubted Ron and Hermione could ever put the past behind them like he had done, and accept Draco Malfoy as anything more than an arch nemesis.

Even with the situation as it was, his friends probably would never see the change in Draco. It might be clear to Harry, but Hermione and Ron still had no idea about what was going on.

Harry was sure Hermione might have suspected _something_ was up after he had come back to his dorms later that life-altering night, grinning like there was no tomorrow, but as far as he knew Hermione just associated it with the approach of the final months.

As it was, they too, were using as much spare time together before the NEWT's would loom over them, so Harry assumed they were content enough to see him happy for so long, rather than interrogating him incessantly about it.

Harry sighed almost dreamily, vividly remembering the night before as he and Draco sat together up in the Astronomy Tower, in almost the exact same position they had been in that night Harry had broken down.

They'd almost fallen asleep under the stars; Harry's head on Draco's shoulder, and Draco's arms snug around him as they talked about their futures and about anything else that took their fancy.

It was nice having somebody who Harry could confide in and to have somebody who could understand exactly what he was trying to get across. Draco had suffered losses too. He had given up so much to remain neutral in the war, even more by secretly helping the light side in the final battle. He had ultimately lost his parents because of it and Harry could definitely relate.

Bringing himself back to the present, a flash of the night when Draco had disillusioned him briefly appeared in his mind, and remembering the feeling of Draco's wand resting against his head, it all just came together and somehow, he knew what it was that had been missing.

With a devilish grin, Harry raised his wand to the top of his head one last time.

"Practice makes perfect, Draco." he said softly. He tapped his head sharply, purposefully, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. "_Disillusiono_." He closed his eyes as there was a familiar egg-like crack on his head and a cold tingling slowly developed down his body.

Waiting for the tingling to reach his toes, he opened his eyes again and stood in front of the mirror to see nothing but a familiar faint outline of a body. He spun around in joy. Finally, success! "And nothing like a bit of motivation to get it just right." he said aloud to the empty room as he eyed the door.

A smirk grew on his face as he hurriedly gathered his things up in his bag, leaving everything but his wand and a suspiciously familiar blank piece of ancient-looking parchment hidden in a corner. Still disillusioned, Harry muttered a few soft words - pointing his wand at the parchment - then tucked his wand under his camouflaged sleeve and made his way to the door.

"Now," he said slowly, thoughtfully looking down at the parchment. He opened the door with one hand and walked through the doorway. "where to find Draco …"

Slowly, the door closed shut as a short bark of laughter was heard outside; the owner of that laugh suspiciously absent.

* * *

_Fin_

**A/N:** Oh my goodness. It's finally finished. It took a while for a six chapter story but I hope it was all worth it for anybody reading.

Honestly, I never imagined it to have gone on for so long. I had originally planned this as a one-shot, but as you can see it expanded quite a bit, and I let myself be taken away with it.

Hmm, well anyway, as this is the last chapter, I would really appreciate it if anybody who hasn't previously reviewed, just did so now. Even one word of feedback would be great – I'm just curious to see how many people have actually read this and liked it.


End file.
